


Labor of Love

by QueenyMidas



Series: My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Cheating, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Family, Gen, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Pregnancy, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, not mpreg lmao, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 34
Words: 129,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenyMidas/pseuds/QueenyMidas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their beautiful wedding, Draco supposes he has to hold up his end of the bargain on the topic of ‘offspring’. After years of convincing from Harry and years of pressure from Lucius, it looks as if the Malfoy-Potter family will be welcoming a bundle of joy. On top of that, their friends seem to be going through struggles of their own. Their dysfunctional family seems to be being tested once again, leaving many to wonder if it can weather the storm. EWE, disregarding Sirius, Remus, and Colin Creevey’s deaths, sequel to My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change of Season

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t stay away for long. Here it is, the sequel to My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding. This title’s a pun, too, since someone will be going into labor soon (don’t give me that look, it’s not mpreg). While I’d recommend reading my wedding fic first, I’m going to try and make this sequel stand on its own. For those of you continuing on with this anyway without having read the first, let me explain some things: Olivia and Maggie are OCs of mine (don’t give me that look again, they’re three-dimensional characters, this isn’t omegle), with Olivia having been adopted by Remus and Sirius, and Maggie dating Pansy Parkinson since they work at St. Mungo’s together. Draco’s a Healer, Harry is Head Auror, and they were very happily married on August 13th 2006. The day is now June 20th, 2007. Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 1: Change of Season**

   Remus watched proudly as the last graduate took to the stage erected in the Great Hall. It was Jeremiah Yin, a Hufflepuff that always had the short end of the alphabet, and Hogwarts diplomas were no exception.

   There had always been a smidgen of guilt on Remus’ part for having Sirius change his last name from ‘Black’ to ‘Lupin’ considering it put them in the middle of lines rather than the front, but the animagus was tickled pink at the change. After all, it probably led to Walburga having a seizure in hell or wherever completely awful and prejudiced people went after they died.

   The Headmistress gave Jeremiah a handshake and breathed a sigh of relief. That was the last of them. Another successful class. No drop-outs, no (massive) scandals, no new wars, Slytherins and Gryffindors had begun to end their squabbling, and McGonagall hadn’t so much as heard a rumor of parent complaints this year. These young minds were out of her hands now, and hopefully on their way to success. Hopefully.

   “Professor Lupin,” she said as she stepped off the stage to stand next to Remus and glow in their mutual pride. “I have no doubt that this crop will be able to defend themselves against every dark art thanks to you.”

   Remus beamed. “I would hope so.” Whatever darkness his and Sirius’ godson hadn’t destroyed, of course. Harry was the most talented student to grace Remus’ office and private lessons, but he didn’t like to play favorites. At least not too obviously, anyway.

   “I think you have another student to attend to,” Minerva pointed out, motioning to the Ravenclaw at the end of the Great Hall with her one lonely suitcase. Remus would be sure to send her back to her room with a second suitcase of his own to make sure she had everything. After all, he wouldn’t want Olivia to miss anything when she stayed at Grimmauld Place.

   “Olivia,” he greeted as he approached her, trying a smile he hoped looked fatherly rather than desperate.

   The brunette shifted in her worn black flats. They would have to buy her new shoes, too. “Sorry that I’m early,” Olivia piped up. “I just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t miss the train.”

   “The Hogwarts Express comes in an hour.”

   “I know.”

   She was a timely young lady, at least. Remus was careful to use the phrase ‘young lady’ since she would be entering third year in the fall. “Walk with me?” Remus asked of her.

   “Sure,” she said a little nervously, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her as they escaped the cheering and celebration in the Great Hall. There wasn’t a feeling quite like the feeling of knowing you never had to go to school again, sit in one more potions class, or endure one more essay.

   “That will be you in five years,” Remus tried, strolling alongside her down the hallway. Didn’t that usually cheer kids up?

   Olivia nodded and stared at the floor tiles as if they were the ones talking to her. “Yeah.”

   Something was wrong. Olivia was a talkative thing; a Ravenclaw, at that.

   While Remus tried to figure out something to say, the obvious hit him right in the face. Of course she wasn’t comfortable. Her werewolf teacher and his batty cursebreaking husband had taken an interest in what, becoming her fathers? “If you don’t want this,” he started hoarsely before Olivia stopped her strides.

   “I do,” she cut him off. “I really do, Professor. Or Remus. Or whatever I’m supposed to call you.”

   “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he insisted. The last thing Remus wanted was to make a student feel like they were being forced into his home, or worse, his family.

   “Remus,” she tried slowly before giggling at the informality of it. “That’s fine.”

   “If you want to back out of this and stay here this summer, I won’t be angry. I wouldn’t ever want you to be somewhere that you didn’t want to be,” Remus explained quickly. “I would never take it out on you—“

   “I know.” Professor Lupin—Remus, she supposed—was a good man. Less creepy than Professor Slughorn, too. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

   Remus could have collapsed with relief, but luckily he remained standing upright. “Then what is it?” He could fix almost anything in her life but himself.

   Her little hand let the suitcase stand on its own. Olivia took a deep breath, trying to remember what she and Alex talked about before. The Gryffindor boy who happened to be her best friend always had some good advice. Something about honesty, and something about bravery. Typical Gryffindor stuff.

   “What if,” she started. “You don’t like the way I use a lot of hot water in the shower? What if I hurt Sirius during a full moon? What if I hate the food you make, but I’m just too polite to say so and one day I snap? What if you realize you don’t want me there?”

   “Olivia,” Remus said, no longer needing to drop to his knee to get to her eye-level. She really was growing fast. It made her scars stretch, and Remus knew how self-conscious that could make someone. “You can use all the hot water you like. And don’t you even begin to worry about what the wolf does. You’re separate, and you have to start telling yourself that. Also, I will be sure to try and fulfill every food request you have. Even takeout every night.” That was actually what he and Sirius had most of the time, so… “And if you ever get angry, I’ll try and understand why so that we can fix it. We want you there.”

   “You do?” Olivia asked just to be sure. There was no such thing as being too sure.

   “Of course we do. How could we not?”

   She shrugged. After a lifetime of never having someone who wanted her unconditionally, it was strange to think someone really could. Quietly, she missed the parents she had no real memories of.

   “Professor Lupin!” another voice shouted down the hall. Remus turned from his almost-legal-child-type-thing to see what graduated student was bothering to chase him down. It turned out that this student wasn’t graduating at all.

   Tiffany Sato was a fifth year, or _was_ a fifth year. Next year Remus would be seeing her for the sixth time around, and hoped that she could keep up with her homework schedule this time. “Miss Sato, what can I do for you?”

   “I just had to ask,” she panted, clearly out of breath from running. “You and the Malfoy-Potters.” Tiffany could barely gain the air to get a full sentence out. How long had she been running?

   “Yes?” Remus asked with a defensive edge.

   “You saw the latest Daily Prophet, right?” Tiffany asked before wrestling the hair tie off of her wrist and stringing her blonde hair up in a ponytail.

   Remus knew exactly what article she was referring to. While there was usually one or two passages about the wizarding world’s most hated and simultaneously most loved power couple, they had made the front page that gossip rag just a few days ago. “Yes, I did. Where is this going?”

   “I just want to know. Most of the stuff in there is total shit, usually. Oh, sorry, should I not say ‘shit’ in front of a teacher? Anyway, I need to know something.” Tiffany took a moment to collect herself and straighten her green tie. “Is it true?”

   “Is what true?” Remus didn’t exactly give out family secrets at the drop of a hat.

   “That they’re looking to adopt,” she sputtered out, not once looking at Olivia. Tiffany was on a mission.

   Crossing his arms, Remus gave her a stern look. “Just because Draco and Harry are public figures doesn’t mean that you have to know all of their private details.”

   Using the deception skills that had got her into the house of the snake, Tiffany spun a lie. “It’s just that some kids were gossiping, you know? Fourth years. I didn’t want to listen to lies, so I came to ask you since you’re in their family. Are Draco and Harry searching for a baby to adopt?”

   If Remus were to tell the truth, it would be that wherever the two went, people were all but throwing their children at them. Their fans would give anything to have their child raised by the great, the powerful, the newspaper-dubbed ‘Drarry’. Instead, Remus gave a half-truth.

   “Draco and Harry are planning to start a family, yes. Only about a fourth of the rubbish in that paper is true,” Remus murmured carefully.

   Remus hadn’t thought that would bring relief to Tiffany’s erratic breathing and face scrunched with worry, but it did. “Oh,” she said with a small smile. “Thanks for, er, letting me know.”

   “Goodbye,” Olivia cut in, giving her a winning smile. This was a life-affirming she was having with her sort-of-guardian, dammit. No celebrity-crazed girl would interrupt her for too long.

   Without so much as a goodbye from the older girl, all they saw was a flash of blonde hair darting off towards the Great Hall.

   Some people really didn’t have any decency. Remus wasn’t the sort to romanticize the past, saying ‘kids these days!’ or anything old and bitter of the sort, because he could see a young Bellatrix Black doing the same thing. Any true Marauder would have thrown in a ‘thank you’.

   Maybe the world was divided like that: into people who had some courtesy and people who didn’t.

   “So,” Remus recovered.

   “So,” Olivia replied with a shy smile.

   “Looks like we now have—“ Remus looked at his watch. “Forty-five minutes until the train comes. Why don’t you tell me what food you _do_ like?”

   Remus was always doing stuff like that, Olivia had noticed. Stuff that made people feel reassured and warm. “Well,” she said slowly before grabbing her bag again so that they could walk some more. “I do have a soft spot for chocolate.”

   “Oh, we are going to get along splendidly.”


	2. Hunters in Plaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the boys. I love established and domestic relationships, man. They’re the best. Thanks to everyone for supporting this! Also, yes, for those of you who haven’t read the prequel to this: Theodore Nott and Colin Creevey are in my holy trinity of ships. Drarry, Wolfstar, and Tholin. It’s a bit like a religion, so just play along until you love it as much as I do.

**Chapter 2: Hunters in Plaid**

   “Where,” Draco began, taking inventory of the granite counters covered with cooking utensils. “Is our pasta strainer?”

   From down the hall, Harry had to adjust to a house where they had to actually shout to hear each other rather than the echo of a flat. “I think it’s with the linens!”

   Taking a deep breath, Draco repeated his mantra. _Moving is not going to stress me out. Moving is not going to stress me out. Moving is not going to stress me out even though I am moving with someone who can’t organize to save their life._ “And why is that?” Draco asked in a voice that tried at calm but sounded shrill as ever.

   “You stuffed the kitchen boxes full,” Harry shrugged, moving some specially-selected earth-tone chairs into the dining room adjacent from the kitchen.

   “Harry James Malfoy-Potter, you are a wizard.”

   “And?”

   “I would hope you know how to use a shrinking charm,” he sighed, walking over to the box that would later be carted upstairs to their bedroom so that they could cover the new mattress. And there it was, the pasta strainer amongst the Egyptian cotton. “Why did I marry you, again?”

   With a lazy grin, Harry came up behind him to rest his head on Draco’s shoulder. “Lots of reasons,” Harry said casually. “For starters, I’m your soulmate.”

   “My _what_?” Draco turned around to face him, arching a brow.

   “Your soulmate,” Harry clarified before walking back to the dining room to unwrap the elaborate centerpiece that Draco had secured in bubble-wrap only nights ago.

   Draco followed him with his eyes, trying to get inside that head of his. “You’re going to tell me that we’re soulmates and keep unpacking the fucking décor?” he asked, amused.

   “I figured you already knew.”

   “Well,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe I like reminders. Tell me properly this time.”

   Harry placed the half-unwrapped glass on the table and looked to his husband. “Draco, you’re the only one in the world for me,” he said dramatically, mocking the request. “You make my heart gushy and my cock hard.”

   “Twit,” Draco accused blamelessly.

   “Oh, come on,” Harry chided as he continued the adventure of unloading the fine china that Draco’s parents had given to them. Maybe if he dropped one, they wouldn’t have to use it anymore. “I’m wearing your underwear right now, and I’ll let you take it off later. Isn’t that proof enough?”

   Draco shrugged, giving Harry an I-Totally-Don’t-Care-Except-That-I-Do look. “I suppose,” he said airily, going back to placing pots and pans in their new cabinet homes.

   Harry unloaded the last Malfoy-family plate. “I looked at cribs with you yesterday,” he said a little softer this time.

   “Yes, because your brain has been on the topic of children since we were engaged.”

   “No,” Harry objected before walking back to the kitchen so he could buy himself some time to get the wording right. The habit of saying half-baked ideas in front of Draco was never one with many rewards. “It’s because you’re my family, and you know that. I just want to expand our family, and I know somewhere deep down you do too.”

   Draco smiled a little, but he wouldn’t let Harry see it. After all, just because they were married didn’t mean that the Gryffindor didn’t have to work for Draco’s approval any longer. “Very deep down,” he nodded.

   “But this is what you want?” Harry asked nervously. That was a question he’d asked too many times.

   “Of course,” Draco sighed, dropping the act and pulling Harry in for a quick kiss. “This is what I want. You and a sweet little roly-poly filled with snot.”

   Harry gave his side a pinch. “Hey, not just any roly-poly. Our kid will be fantastic, just like their daddy.”

   “Or their papa, I suppose,” he smirked, kissing those pink lips again. It was nice having Harry to himself like this. Both Draco and the baby would have to learn a few lessons in sharing their favorite papa.

   “Maybe they’ll cure the common cold,” Harry fantasized. “Or stop global warming.”

   Draco picked right up on that train of thought. “They’ll win beauty pageants without even having to enter them, and will graciously accept the crown.”

   “They could ride horses!”

   “Or dragons.”

   “Or discover new species,” Harry continued.

   “And speak twenty different languages, just because they can.” Draco had only learned so many because of his father’s strict parenting style.

   “And they’ll be kind,” he clarified with a smile. “Because we’ll teach them to be.”

   “Even in the face of paparazzi?” Draco asked, having held Harry back from punching a few photographers on Draco’s behalf. Something about Gryffindors and defending their chivalry, or honor, or whatever.

   Harry had, unfortunately, stewed over that idea for a while. “I don’t want them to grow up with cameras all around them,” he muttered. “It’s going to give them a warped sense of reality when they should be having fun and being a kid. Maybe they could handle it when they’re older, but not a second before.”

   “So we just lock them in here and never let them see the sunlight? They’ll be paler than my father.”

   “No,” Harry objected weakly. “We’d just… We’d make sure that we were never followed home and that they kept out of our faces when they did find us.” Harry had known what the burden of a famous last name had done to Draco, and had promised himself that his child would never suffer that fate.

   Draco didn’t want to burst his bubble, but that was hardly realistic. “All we have to do is keep an open dialogue about it. We can’t shelter them from the fact that their fathers are famous and famously gay.”

   “If anyone so much as teases them for that, I swear—“

   “Easy there, lion cub,” Draco said with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “We could hex them together.”

   “Good.”

   Before they heard the doorbell ring, they heard the commotion outside of their front door. It was strange, not having to take an elevator to get to your living space.

   “They’re here,” Draco whispered with a joking tone of ominousness.

   With a playful swat, Harry went to open their door and let their friends in to help them unpack and fill their pantry with food. Lucius had mumbled something about wanting to see how ‘structurally sound’ the house was, too.

   So Harry let them inside in waves of laughter and ‘oh, this is beautiful!’s and ‘congratulations!’s. Even little Rose gurgled at her ‘Uncle’ Harry that was probably baby-speak for her approval of the house.

   It seemed strange, having Weasleys and Malfoys under the same roof and not having a single insult being hurled. Sure, there were some snide remarks and snips, but nothing on the grand scale of what it had been when Harry and Draco were children.

   “Sweetheart,” Molly said cheerfully, bringing Harry in for a crushing hug. “It’s so wonderful. Arthur’s bringing in the food, since we can’t have you starving in such a lovely home.”

   “Don’t worry,” Draco chimed in. “I kept him fed and watered.”

   Giving him a pinch for referring to him as a house plant, Harry managed to drift into the living-room with Draco.

   “I’ll redo the pipes,” Sirius decided for them, having been on another home-renovation kick in order to get things ready and perfect for Olivia. “It’s not a particularly old house, but the last thing I want to hear is my niece bitching about cold, rusty water.”

   Draco grinned. “So considerate.” He wished Sirius would do the repairs with magic, but once Sirius Lupin had an idea, it was damn near impossible to change his mind.

   “Someone has to be,” he replied dramatically to get a laugh out of the room. Humor was his forte, after all.

   The only one who wasn’t all smiles and pats on the back was Lucius. However, Lucius Malfoy was rarely even semi-smiles and brushes on the back. When Draco noticed his glower, a sigh escaped him. “Father, you’re going to bore a hole in the wall if you stare at it any longer.”

   “Is it so wrong for me to want my son to have a good home?” Lucius asked innocently. “I would never want you and Harry to waste away your gallons when your children may need them some day.”

   Draco made a distressed sound.

   “Oh, come now,” Narcissa said, getting in between the two men. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

   Fred Jr. gripped onto his mother’s skirt and widened his eyes. “Mum, is Uncle Draco pregnant?” he asked excitedly, hoping for a new cousin since he’d been so delighted with the previous ones.

   “No,” Angelina laughed, patting his head.

   Unfortunately, George cut in to explain why. “You see, Freddie, if either of them were going to get pregnant, it’d probably be Harry—“

   “Hey!”

   “Sorry, mate. Just telling the truth,” he said with his signature grin.

   Angelina gave her husband a look. “Quit confusing him,” she muttered before dropping down to his height. “Uncle Draco and Uncle Harry are going to be adopting a baby, since two men can’t have one on their own.”

   That only confused Fred more, in all honesty. “But they got married, and when you get married, you get pregnant with babies. I don’t get it.”

   “A little help?” Arthur called from the front door, arms full of trays of food and a trail of levitating dishes behind him. Eager to escape what was about to become the birds and the bees talk with Fred Junior and a distressed Angelina, Harry rushed to help him.

   “Thanks,” he said when he smelled just how good it was. Nothing was quite like Molly’s home cooking. “You really didn’t have to make so much.”

   “Nonsense! Molly and I were experimenting with muggle cooking devices. Even Charlie pitched in!”

   Surrounded by his seemingly never-ending family members, Charlie and his faux dragonhide clothing looked slightly out of place. “Dad nearly hit the ceiling when the bagels popped out of the toaster,” Charlie informed his varying degrees of relatives. Wait. Bill, Ron, Mum, Dad, Fleur, Angelina, George, Victoire, Fred Jr… “Where’s Ginny?”

   Draco tried to recall where he’d seen the woman last. “Being famous and signing brooms, probably.” Her Quidditch career had really taken flight (pun intended) when she signed with the English National team.

   “She said her and Blaise were being interviewed by the Prophet,” Hermione remembered, though she had thought Ginny would at least be around in the same time slot as her family. “Last thing any of us need is more misinformation from that rag.”

   “Amen to that,” Sirius replied as if he were actually religious.

   Harry held back a grin. There was no doubt that the whole Slytherin gang would show up in a few hours, all of them with ridiculous excuses and sunglasses on in spite of the fact that they were inside. Their significant others would be doubtlessly dragged along for the ride, just like Harry was when Theo or Greg had some big event. Merlin help them all when Pansy threw a party.

   “We can tell Ginny how proud of her we are later,” Molly said with a knowing smile. Her daughter’s face in papers for being talented and in a star-studded relationship was much better than the rumors that had haunted her after Harry broke up with her. “Now, we eat.” There would be more than enough leftovers.

   Oh, if only Remus had been there. Sirius would have suggested they christened the house with a bottle of champagne and taken in the disturbed look on his face. But alas, he was on a train with their daughter-type-thing.

   The family gathered around the table that Harry had just barely put together in time to begin their feast of toasted splendor.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Laughing, Colin tried to wrestle his shirt on. It was difficult with the other man trying to drag him back to bed, but someone needed to be the punctual one in the relationship.

   “We’re already late,” Theo reasoned, pawing at Colin’s pale skin. “Come on, just one more kiss.”

   Colin rolled his eyes. “That is such a lie. You’re a horndog.” Finally, the shirt pushed down over his golden locks.

   “I promise,” the Slytherin tried.

   “Swear on a stack of potions books?”

   “I swear.”

   With a sigh, a fully-clothed Colin Creevey wriggled his way back into the bed next to Theo. “Fine,” he murmured before reeling him in by his raven hair for a quick peck.

   Theo arched an eyebrow. “You call that a kiss? I happen to know you can do much, _much_ better.”

   “Don’t tempt me,” Colin laughed before yanking him back in to crush their lips together, tilting his head so that their noses brushed.

   The kiss softened once Theo slung a leg around his Gryffindor, anchoring him there for a few seconds longer.

   Colin had never expected the son of a Death Eater and a loner Potioneer to be the cuddly sort, but maybe he should have. It was one of the many pleasant surprises about being with Theo.

   “We should go,” Theo realized without moving a muscle.

   “Oh, so now you see that you should probably be there for your best mate’s house warming party,” Colin laughed breathily between kisses. If they had any real time to stay in bed, he would have drawn the white sheets up around them.

   “See,” he replied. “I can understand anything with time.”

   With a pulse of regret, Colin pulled away to fetch his boyfriend some clothes. “You better haul your arse into these pants,” he said, tossing a randomly-selected outfit at the bed. “I don’t want to miss whatever fit Lucius decides to throw.”

   “He’s not so bad,” Theo shrugged as he buttoned up the front of a shirt that was definitely not his. It was sure a good thing that he could get away with shit like that as a ponce. “Not as bad as he used to be to Harry. If anything, they’re on the same side this time.”

   “Against Draco?” Colin asked skeptically before stepping into his shoes.

   “Not against. They’re both pretty pro-family.” There was the small issue of adoption versus in vitro fertilization that would probably turn into a power struggle, though. “I just can’t believe they finally convinced Draco that he’d be a good father.”

   “He would be.”

   Theo zipped up his pants before checking his hair in a nearby wall mirror. “That’s the thing,” Theo agreed. “Draco’s got a complex about it that I’m surprised Harry could overcome.” Maybe that was why they were good for one another.

   “Well, I’m looking forward to being an honorary uncle,” Colin announced.

   Grinning, Theo put on his own shoes and prepared to apparate. They’d attune to Draco and Harry’s fireplace later, he supposed. “Is that code for ‘we’re babysitting when Dennis has kids’?”

   Colin was glad he understood the nuance. “You better learn how to change a diaper,” he teased just to see the horror flash over Theo’s face before their side-by-side apparation.

   Hours into the party already, they arrived at about the same time as Pansy and Maggie. The urge to grab a fistful of those ridiculous red curls would always lurk in Theo for some strange reason. He just wanted to see if they were real, was all.

   Real or not, Pansy Parkinson—The Girl Who Lived To Never Commit—liked them. “Draco,” she gushed. “It’s so much bigger than that dingy old flat. You’ll have to put some nicer flowers in the front, though.”

   “Don’t worry,” Neville cut in as he filled his plate with warm and gooey pop-tarts. “I can get you two the best of everything. Luna and I are even selling to the Ministry for their whole ‘green initiative’ laws. Finally good to have a Minister who gives the environment the time of day.”

   “Ah,” Pansy nodded as if she had actually listened to a word out of his mouth.

   “Kingsley’s the best we’ve seen in a long while.” Arthur raised his glass in praise. Being a Ministry worker was never easy, but it was especially shameful during the war. Things had gotten so out of hand.

   Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “But his financial plans? You can’t tell me that giving handouts to the poor is going to get us out of debt.”

   “Hey,” Draco interrupted. “No political ideology at the table.”

   “So says the Master of the House,” Theo cut in after having taken a quick look-around to check out what was so special about this place.

   Draco grinned from ear to ear. “I quite like that title.” Nothing in the world quite beat being the Master.

   “Then what am I?” Harry asked them both, crossing his arms.

   “Patriarch?” offered Ginny from the other side of the dining table after laughing at the look on Blaise’s face when he managed to get a bite of his bagel down. Pureblood reactions to muggle food had to be the most amusing thing Ginny had ever seen.

   “Lord,” Ron said with a joking regal swish of his hand.

   “Supervisor,” Maggie suggested. After all, someone needed to watch Draco.

   Victoire went through all the French she knew before deciding for all of them. “Monsieur,” she declared as she threw her hands up in the air. It was the sort of idea that also required physical exclamation.

   Draco would have gone with ‘Resident Sexpot’ but that worked just as well. “She’s a smart one,” he told Fleur in a rare display that one might actually refer to as Draco giving a compliment and being _nice_. In his mind, he was just calling it like he saw it.

   Even Bill was caught off guard. “Yeah,” he answered with his wife. “Thanks.”

   “Are we finally all here?” Molly asked, trying to count the swarm of heads. Thank Merlin that Harry and Draco finally had this much space.

   Sirius tried to count with her, but it only messed them both up. “Just waiting on Moony and Liv, I think.”

   “Do we need to do role call?” Lucius asked dryly. Goyle and his little Hufflepuff—was her last name Cabot? Rabbit?—had made the mistake of sharing kisses next to an already-bothered Lucius Malfoy. “Because you’re going to have to stop licking each other’s faces for that.”

   Narcissa hid her laugh.

   From Harry’s seat, he could see Remus’ reflection in the glass window. “I’ll get it!” Harry called, rushing away from ever hearing Lucius say the word ‘licking’ out loud ever again.

   When the door swung open, Remus embraced Harry like a son. “Look at you,” he marveled. “All grown up.”

   Harry hoped that he would be grown up by twenty-six, but the gesture wasn’t lost on him. “This must be Olivia,” Harry said, bending over to outstretch his hand for her to shake. “So glad you could make it.”

   Olivia had to keep her jaw off of the floor. That was _Harry Potter_. Well, legally Harry Malfoy-Potter, but equally as famous and heroic! “Hullo,” she tried a little weakly.

   “Hey, kiddo,” Sirius greeted her after giving Remus a quick kiss on the lips. “Hungry?”

   “Yeah,” was all she could manage.

   There was Ron Weasley! And his wife, the one who had help free the house elves! There was the Chief Editor of the Quibbler, and Ginny bloody Weasley! She was so fantastic at Quidditch that one of Olivia’s dorm-mates back in Hogwarts had a poster of her taped to the wall.

   It was a room full of celebrities, and Olivia wasn’t sure if her twelve year-old frame could take it. These were the people she saw in papers and magazines, the couples she idolized, and the war veterans that had saved them all. Well, some of them were on the wrong side of the war at the time, but still.

   “Hullo!” Fred Jr. greeted her, his hands covered in jam from trying to make faces on his toast. Was he her cousin now? “My dad runs a joke shop and my mum plays Quidditch.”

   “Uh,” she started once she saw that all the adults were busy joking and talking amongst themselves. At least Sirius was giving her an encouraging look. “That’s cool.”

   “He sells pygmy puffs, too. Lots of girls like them,” he offered before George knelt down to wipe his hands off.

   “That’s my little salesman,” George beamed as he ruffled his hair. “But you’re completely welcome to one for free.”

   Olivia gaped. “Free?”

   Before George could terrify her entirely by explaining that all products that their ‘family’ wanted were free (except for Ron who paid double), there was another knock at the door.

   Confused, Molly tried to take a second head count. “I thought everyone was here…” she trailed off, trying to keep track of where her grandchildren were running off to.

   “I’ll get it,” Draco offered his husband this time, strolling up to the door without a clue in the world about what waited on the other side.

   “There he is! This is the house, this is it!”

   “Abomination!” screeched a woman in plaid, holding up a sign that read ‘Get out of our neighborhud!’ so that Draco could at least take solace in her misspelling.

   “Smile for the camera, Malfoy-Potter!”

   “Can I get a statement from you on the rumors that you and Harry are trying to get pregnant through magic?”

   “What?” Draco sputtered out finally at the wave of reporters and photographers outside his front door. “No! That’s impossible—“

   “Magic can do great things!” one woman shouted.

   The endless clamor of voices trying to scratch their way to Draco’s ears ended abruptly, leaving him to wonder if the whole thing had been real. “What?”

   Lucius gave his son a look as he locked the door he had previously slammed in everyone’s faces. “It’s not safe here,” he told him. “You’re staying at the Manor tonight.”

   “What?”

   “Salazar, Draco, is that all you can say? The press knows where you live, and you haven’t got wards up to keep them out,” Lucius growled, protectively moving to shut all of the blinds and curtains.

   Dumbstruck, the small army of family members watched on with worry. Fleur and Bill turned to each other to speak in hushed tones, Narcissa was as pale as a ghost, and even stalwart Charlie seemed concerned.

   “I never thought in a thousand years that I would say this,” Molly dragged out, always read to get a subtle jab in. “But Lucius is right.”

   Colin nodded. “You know how crazy they are. Before you know it they’ll be throwing bricks in the window so that they can climb in and write juicy gossip about your showerhead choices.”

   A distressed groan escaped Harry. “How did they even find out?” he asked, looking around the room. Only the people in that room knew the address, and suddenly so did the whole world. Fuck, this was a nightmare.

   “They can stay with us at Grimmauld Place,” Sirius cut in. He wouldn’t let his godson be subjected to whatever madness Lucius had in store for him there.

   Lucius, as usual, ignored nearly everything that came out of his cousin-in-law’s mouth. It wasn’t that he had any extreme dislike for the man, it was just that Lucius always knew best. “We can figure that out _at the Manor_ , Head Auror,” he emphasized. He’d dealt with crazed fans and homicidal ‘avengers’ of all sorts from that media circus. They were not about to hurt his family more than they already had.

   Before Harry was so much as allowed to protest, the hinges on the front door gave a chilling creak, a loud crunch, and a pop before the door collapsed inside altogether.


	3. Too Much Free Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I’m 17! What the hell? Growing up is ridiculous. I am now officially driving places, and I got cast in a music video. TW for slurs and talk of menstruation. Anyway, this one’s for eloyellow! You’ve left such touching reviews but I haven’t got a chance to reply since you’re a guest. You’re lovely.

**Chapter 3: Too Much Free Time**

   How Draco could have grown up in this kind of opulence was still foreign to Harry. No wonder he had turned out to be such a spoilt little thing in school.

   A rosebud blossomed before him in the Malfoy Manor gardens, and shyly tucked itself away when Harry moved on to the next one. In a sort of peaceful awe, Harry was reminded of just how much he loved magic.

   “These are really beautiful,” he murmured, watching Narcissa clip a stray vine with the point of her wand.

   His mother-in-law smiled politely. “Having the Ministry lock ex-Death Eaters out of most jobs gives me the time to properly take care of the gardens. I could never trust the help with it.” That, and Lucius’ mother would have cursed her from beyond the grave if she let the precious Malfoy gardens go to waste. Narcissa knew a thing or two about insane in-laws.

   Harry nodded before walking on in the maze of vibrant green hedges. Even though spring had drawn to a close, they managed to maintain their full blooms.

   A rustling came from his right, and Harry had to remind himself that they were no longer at war. When the rustling became thumping and quiet cursing, Harry couldn’t hold back much longer. Harry’s Head Auror senses kicked in as he sprinted around an azalea bush to find the source of the ruckus.

   “Get _back_!” Draco yelled down at the blur of white. “You horrid rats, I’ll hex you twelve ways into next week!”

   When Harry saw his husband’s mortal combat with an albino peacock, he tucked away his wand and laughed. Years ago, Harry would have probably murdered the bird out of sheer fear and instinct. “Really?” he asked with relief.

   “Yes, really! Harry, make it heel!”

   “It’s a _peacock_.”

   Draco tried shooing the hungry animal with his feet. “Well, you’re the bloody animal whisperer!” he insisted. That trial with Buckbeak wasn’t forgotten at all. “Get it away from me! These robes are too expensive to have bird saliva on them!”

   “Do birds even have saliva?” With a sigh, Harry summoned some seeds that he hoped wouldn’t accidentally poison Lucius’ favorite pets or something. After all, who knew what peacocks ate? “Here,” he said, tossing the seeds down at a safe distance away from Draco.

   The creature rushed to its meal with an excited flourish of its tail. “Monster,” Draco shuddered before skulking even farther away from the bird.

   “It can’t be more than a stone, Draco. You’re ridiculous,” he told him fondly.

   Draco gave his side a pinch before wrapping an arm around Harry. “You haven’t seen them bite. I’m pretty sure I still have beak-shaped scars on my arms from when I was a child.”

   “Really?” Harry asked playfully, calling Draco on his bullshit by rolling his right sleeve up too fast for Draco to stop him. “Because I haven’t seen a scratch.”

   “They’re there,” Draco insisted anyway. Getting him to back down would involve much more than ‘facts’ and ‘observations’.

   Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s bare wrist. “Not from where I’m looking.”

   “You’ll have to look harder, then,” Draco murmured, curling his hand into Harry’s hair so that his effortless kisses could slide down Draco’s arm.

   “Mm,” Harry agreed before the kisses found their way up Draco’s shoulder and to his neck. “It would probably help if you didn’t have long sleeves on in the summer.”

   “It’d be even better if I just didn’t have a shirt on,” Draco agreed before reaching down to give Harry’s firm arse a squeeze.

   From behind them, Narcissa cleared her throat.                        

   “Yes, mother?” Draco huffed as if this had happened to him a million times before.

   “Just reminding you that you’re outside,” Narcissa said airily. In one hand, she perked a pink flower up with just a touch. “Where there are no walls, ceilings, silencing charms…”

   “I would have all of that at home if father wasn’t making it a fortress of solitude right now.”

   Narcissa made a ‘tsk’ noise with her tongue. “We’re protecting you, Draco. You and Harry both, along with your eventual children.”

   “All it needed was wards,” Draco argued before finally pulling a shocked and blushing Harry off of his neck. “Not a thousand locks, not magically reinforced doors and windows, and certainly not a fifteen-foot Confundus barrier around the damn place. What if the spell works on us?”

   “Your father is a powerful wizard.” Narcissa would never undersell her husband’s skills. “I’m sure things will work perfectly.”

   “Sirius is helping, too,” Harry told Draco to help reassure him. Harry would have been down there adding his own security measures of the Auror caliber if he wasn’t wary of the press returning with their questions and accusations.

   Draco gave them both baleful looks. “Yes, yes, so sue me if I wanted to spend a night in our house.” The ‘our’ had just sort of slipped out.

   “Tonight,” Narcissa told her son with a small smile. “Tonight you can. And for now, you two can curb your… wants by helping me garden. The petunias need special care this time of year.”

   Draco rolled his eyes and dragged Harry off to grab a watering can.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “So what’d he say?” Grace asked, leaning forward so that her legs swung over the edge of the pastel pink bed. “Tiff. Hello?”

   It was hard to think about life-altering occurrences and events when peroxide was seeping into your scalp. “I told you that I needed to do this first! Aaron is coming over and my roots are showing like the motherfuckers they are.”

   This was ridiculous. “Tiff!” Grace shouted again before barreling into the bathroom with her wand drawn. “I will hex that dye right out of your hair unless you give me a straight answer.”

   “Five. More. Minutes.”

   “You can talk while you’re dying it, dumbarse!” she retorted.

   “Hey,” Tiffany said, holding the applicator brush in her hand. “I do not appreciate the name-calling right now.”

   That set Grace off more than ever. “Seriously?” she demanded. “I ask you one favor out of the entire year, and you’re making me miserable about it! I should have just talked to Professor Lupin myself.”

   “ _Someone_ was too scared and made her best friend do her dirty work.”

   “You’re going to lose the ‘best friend’ title if you don’t tell me what the Professor said,” Grace snapped before taking the applicator brush and touching up Tiffany’s roots herself. A little selfishly, Grace considered the Asian girl to be dying her hair blonde so that she could look more like Grace. That alone meant that Tiffany owed her an answer.

   She sighed. “Yeah, it’s true. But Grace, this is a terrible idea—“ she blurted out, hoping that she had stalled enough to put Grace off of the idea entirely.

   “I’ve only had one terrible idea in my life,” Grace snapped, falling back into her classic alpha-female role before dropping the used applicator in the trash. “And this isn’t it.”

   “Yes,” Tiff muttered sarcastically. “Stalking a couple of rich fags with too much free time and dumping your fetus on their doorstep is a fantastic idea.”

   “Shut up. And you shouldn’t be using that word,” Grace muttered. She hated that almost as much as she hated being called a mudblood. Slytherin sure was an ironic house for her to end up in.

   Tiffany gave her a look. “There aren’t any gay people around here, so why should I stop? Unless you’re secretly a lesbian, it doesn’t matter.”

   “It does matter. You can’t say that you’re an ally for gay people and then walk around dropping that word. You can’t have it both ways.”

   “Can you drop your politically correct act for a second?” demanded Tiffany. “I’m trying to tell you to forget the damn plan and tell your aunt and uncle; I’m not trying to pick a fight with gay people.”

   “I am not telling anyone from my family. Now listen up, and listen well. It is too fucking late for me to abort, and I’m not in the mood to go shopping for a coat hanger, you hear me? My aunt and uncle would kick me out, and I don’t want to live on the street. The only way this baby is coming out is if someone massively rich pays for a late-term abortion potion, or if someone takes the baby,” she seethed. Grace couldn’t take this anymore. “And since there’s a couple looking for a baby and I don’t feel like puking my brains out for a year thanks to hormonal insanity that the potion would bring: this is the idea.”

   “You’d rather push a living being out of your vagina than never have a normal period again?” Tiffany asked skeptically, crossing her arms. She looked rather ridiculous in her sea-foam green bathroom with tin foil and yellow gunk in her hair, and Grace sort of wanted to slap that doubtful look right off of her face.

   “That is so fucking easy for you to say,” she growled right back. “You don’t have the period issues that I do.”

   “Oh, wah! I’m Grace Burbage and my flow is heavy!”

   Grace gave her a shove against the bathroom counter. “Fuck you! It’s a real medical condition, and I can’t fuck it up any worse with potion hormone treatment or I’ll be bleeding twenty-four seven!”

   “So you’d rather give birth?” Tiffany demanded.

   “Yes!” Grace shouted. “I won’t have to keep the baby, I can get the adoptive parents to pay my medical bills, and my tits will get huge after it’s born. It’s a win-win for everyone!” Aside from the fact that his was the second-worst thing that had ever happened to her.

   After a deep, cleansing breath like Tiffany had learned in her mum’s yoga class, she looked back to her friend. “Fine. That kind of makes sense. But… Why them? You can find rich fa—gays. You can find rich _gays_ anywhere. Ones that aren’t so famous and unreachable.”

   “They’re not unreachable,” Grace reminded her. The break-in on Saturday had only further convinced her that this was the right path. After all, she had an address now. “And who knows what the other rich gays are doing? I mean, I’m sure there are some nice families, but even straight ones can be awful parents.”

   “And you think that just because you’ve read a couple glamorous stories about the Boy Who Lived and his Death Eater lover that they’re suitable parents?” Tiff questioned.

   This interview was getting tired. “That’s why I’ll talk to them first,” Grace said as she shifted her weight. “But, yeah. If two blokes can still fancy each other after a war enough to marry one another, I think that qualifies as a ‘loving parent’ characteristic.”

   “Tiffany!” Tiff’s mother shouted up from the living room where she had been watching television. “There’s a young man here for you!”

   “I’ll be down in a second, mum!”

   While a nervous teenage boy sat down uncomfortably on her plastic-covered sofa, Tiffany frantically rushed to the sink to get her hair back to a semi-normal state of being. “Look, just owl me before you do anything.”

   “I don’t need your permission,” Grace hissed.

   “I know,” Tiffany softened. “It’s just… You know I’m being a bitch because I love you, right? You and the blob of cells hanging out in your uterus. So, I just want you to have a life after this. If you end up on one of those shows my mum is always watching about teenage girls who keep the baby.”

   “I’ll be fine, Tiff.”

   As her friend nodded and added a final topping of eyeliner on in the mirror, she was prepared to leave her bedroom in a whirlwind.

   “Wait,” Grace said quickly. When Tiffany turned around inquisitively, Grace reached under for the little cavern behind the mirror and pulled out a couple of bright-purple condoms. “Be safe.”

   Tiffany couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks,” she said as she took them. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Hogwarts is running a pregnancy pact.”

   Without even seeing Grace’s sad smile, Tiffany rushed out of the door to her date.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “The lock code on the side door is one, zero, six, eight—“

   “I’ll reset it to Harry’s birthday,” Draco offered.

   “That’s too obvious,” his father chastised. “Someone could easily input that into the system and get inside.” Lucius was surprised that Draco wasn’t willing to think outside of the box when his entire life always seemed to be outside of the box.

   Sirius gave his cousin-in-law a small shove. “Let the children do what they want, Lucius,” he said in a voice of mock-concern that wasn’t in an entirely mean spirit. “You’ll give yourself a hernia.”

   “I’ll show you a hernia,” Lucius grumbled without any intention of following through on that threat.

   “How about,” Harry offered, more eager than ever to get them out of their house so that the madness could finally be laid to rest. “We change it to something we’ll both remember that isn’t a birthday. Hm? Problem solved.”

   Both Draco and Lucius gave him that Don’t-Patronize-Me look.

   Sirius, luckily, heard Harry’s message loud and clear. “I’ve got to get back home,” he excused himself. “Wife and kid waiting. You know what I’m talking about, Narcissa.”

   The Malfoy matriarch held back a laugh. If Sirius didn’t watch it, he would become her favorite blood relative. “Then I think it’s time for us to go, too,” she said as her arm wrapped around Lucius’.

   In silent protest, Lucius wrote down the alarm code on a nearby notepad with a flourish of his jewel-encrusted quill. They would change it over his dead body.

   “Goodnight,” Draco said cheerily as he assisted Harry in seeing everyone out. “I’ll owl you in the morning!”

   “Sleep well!” Harry added.

   _Impossible_ , Lucius thought. _They were both impossible_. “If you two get a break-in because of a faulty code, I swear—“

   “I know, I know!” Draco said as he opened their front door so that his parents could step out into the warm summer air. “You have nothing to worry about, by the way. I am an adult.”

   “I doubt that, still,” Lucius grumbled before his wife embraced their son in a tight hug. Only after she had crushed him half to death would the barrage of motherly kisses for Draco came.

   Draco tried to wriggle away and get Harry to stop laughing like an idiot, but Narcissa gripped him tight. “I’m so proud of you.”

   “I know, mother.”

   “This home is beautiful.”

   “I _know_ , mother.”

   “And I love you,” she finished.

   “Love you too,” Draco mumbled before Sirius ruffled his hair and he had to swat the man away before his cheeks heated up.

   Sirius, after gracefully embarrassing his ‘niece’, said his own goodbyes—with flourishes—before running off into the night the way that Marauders were apt to do.

   When the new and reinforced door was sealed for the night, Draco let out a sigh of relief. Finally. In a silent admiration, he took a look around the vaulted ceilings and wedding-cake-white walls. They’d have to fill those with art. Lots and lots of bizarre moving scenes of naturalistic ecstasy that would make them seem deep and complicated in front of their friends. Maybe they could even commission Dean for some paintings, and get Colin to snap a few vaguely-pretentious pictures.

   “This is the hallway,” Draco said carefully, slowly. His voice echoed off the empty walls. “Where we will leave to go to work tomorrow.”

   Harry could feel the fantasy in his tone. “I could straighten your collar and call you Jim Dear, if you like.”

   Draco laughed. “Hardly.”

   Curiously, Harry motioned to the dining room. “And what will this room be?”

   “The room where us and the Lupins will have hilarious, wonderful, and tasteful dinner conversations over take-out Indian food.” The assurance Draco said it with sounded to Harry like fact. “They’ll impart onto us the wisdom of the ages, and tell us what the sixties were like.”

   “I’m sure they’ll appreciate your calling them old,” Harry snarked.

   He shrugged. “Good thing we’re never getting old.”

   “Never?”

   “Not ever. That’s why we won’t even need to save up for retirement,” Draco pointed out.

   “Ah, right,” Harry murmured as if Draco had merely reminded him of an inevitability that had been there all along.  Casually, he continued his walk around the house. “And the parlor?”

   “That’s where we’ll take a thousand pictures trying to get the perfect Christmas card to send to everyone. It’ll be family-friendly enough for my parents and strange enough for your aunt and uncle to be extremely concerned.” Draco wanted them in jail for what they’d done to Harry, but Draco wanted a lot of things.

   The Victorian-red parlor looked like something out of a Tolstoy novel. Its gilded accents had been more than a few galleons, but Draco had convinced Harry with kisses and begging. Since Draco was rarely the type to beg, Harry had caved almost immediately.

   “I like the way you think,” Harry said before passing through their dining room to get to their kitchen. “And the living room can wait. I want to know what this room is going to be.”

   Draco approached him with a devilish grin. “This,” he said, nonchalant as ever. “This is the room where I lift you onto the counter on our first night in this house before fucking you senseless on it.”

   “Oh, is that so?” Harry asked with a crack in his voice he hoped Draco hadn’t heard.

   Rather than reply, Draco acted. He launched forward to grab Harry by his hips and lift him up in a move that may or may not have been assisted by the wand in his pocket for a little extra strength in the moment.

   After Harry’s back was on that ice-cold granite, Draco wasted no time climbing on top of his so that he was straddling Harry’s lap. Beneath him, he could feel Harry give that little squirm that settled them both into that perfect place where they both fit together.

   The blue shirt slid easily off of Harry’s torso, with Draco only needing to undo the top button since it was one of those stretchy jersey shirts he fancied so much. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, though; they made Harry look like a teenager. That was all well and wonderful in bed, but out of it?

   “There’s my Harry,” Draco murmured as he cradled Harry’s rib cage so that his thumbs rested soundly over his nipples.

   “We’re going to have to eat on this counter, you know,” he laughed breathlessly. Not that he actually wanted to switch locations in the slightest, of course.

   Draco smirked before digging his thumbnails into those candy-pink nipples. “Then it’s a good thing I know how much you like eating arse. Which you will be doing later, in the bedroom that will be the place where we’ll shag many a time.”

   Harry let out a low growl.  “So what’re you waiting for?”

   Never one to turn down a challenge, Draco started by yanking off his belt and throwing it off the counter. The metal clasp hit the tiles with a clang. Next came Harry’s muggle jeans, with Draco having to toss his shoes and socks off first. “I hate these shoes,” he muttered about the clunky sneakers.

   “I know. I happen to like them.”

   “If you don’t watch it, I’ll burn them in the fireplace,” Draco warned teasingly.

   Harry grinned as he undid the fastens on Draco’s trousers. “We have a real, large, and functioning _fireplace_. Makes me think of Hogwarts.”

   “Maybe after this,” Draco breathed before cupping the growing bulge in Harry’s trousers. “We can shag in front of it.”

   Harry rutted up into the gentle touches. “Every room,” he murmured.

   “Hm?” Draco kicked off his shoes.

   “I want to shag you in every single room of this house. Our house.”

   That made Draco smirk before he slid off his pants. Finally free, his cock hung low before Draco could grasp it and start pumping. “You like the idea of all of our unsuspecting friends being seated somewhere where we’ve fucked?”

   Harry’s eyes drifted up to the man before him. On his knees was where he looked his best. Draco’s neck looked even longer that way, and the lines where his collarbones were seemed heavenly from the angle Harry was at.

   Maybe it was a sign of going soft, looking at collarbones and finding them beautiful.

   He’d been so distracted by what Draco would call ‘sappy’ thoughts, he felt a finger press up against his arsehole. Surprised for a second, Harry clenched up and wriggled away.

   “This all shocking and new to you?” Draco asked with a grin to try and mask his concern as the other hand slathered his cock in lube.

   “Yes,” Harry said with an eyeroll. “I’ve never, ever had sex before. How do two blokes even have sex? I’ll need charts and diagrams. Possibly demonstrations.” He’d just been a little surprised, was all.

   Draco chuckled before successfully slipping the finger back in. This time, Harry let out a low groan. “I usually don’t do virgins.”

   “Harsh,” Harry laughed.

   “They get too clingy. They want me to move in with them and get married,” he joked before moving his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion to feel the stretch. “Can’t take that kind of stuff.”

   “Ah, right. Draco Malfoy, the Forever Bachelor.”

   “Hey,” Draco murmured. “That’s Malfoy-Potter to you.”

   At that, Harry slung his legs over Draco’s shoulder so that he had a better angle. His own neglected cock lay against his stomach, but rather than grabbing at it, Harry wanted to make this last. “Mr. Malfoy-Potter, a thousand apologies.”

   Draco pushed the second finger in with a shuddery breath. “Call me that again.”

   “What?” Harry asked before grinning. “What was that, Mr. Malfoy-Potter?” After that predatory look came over Draco’s face, he added to it by pushing back onto the fingers.

   “Fuck,” he growled before shoving his third finger in urgently and spreading them open wide. Draco had to have him right there and right away. The urge doubled when he snuck a peek at Harry’s erection, a single vein running up the side.

   In a rush, Draco shoved the head of his prick inside Harry. The Gryffindor took it, like, well, a Gryffindor. Harry liked it fast anyway.

   “Harder,” he demanded immediately.

   “So bossy,” Draco chastised with a smile before his hands clasped Harry’s ankles so that he could pull his legs up to go deeper with each thrust. His hips worked double-time, pushing into Harry so that he could hit his prostate dead-on.

   A strangled whine burst from Harry’s mouth before he gave in on the need to touch himself. The sight made Draco quiver inside him before falling back into the rhythm of his strokes. The heat rising in his stomach was a familiar and well-loved burn.

   Harry’s other hand kept him anchored on the counter, his back arching upwards. “Draco,” he gasped. He tried to line up his strokes with his thrusts.

   “Try the other name,” Draco encouraged with a breathy laugh.

   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry laughed right back. He loved how they could do that; laugh during sex. After all, Draco’s penis was in his bum. It was all very ridiculous and didn’t deserve as much seriousness as the world seemed to give it.

   Draco stopped his thrusts, sweat dripping down his chest. “Say it.”

   Harry whimpered. “Don’t stop, please,” he begged as he quickened his strokes to make up for the loss of Draco’s heat.

   “Say it.”

   Putting on a defiant face, Harry crumbled in seconds. “Fine! Shag me, Mr. Malfoy-Potter!” What kind of roleplay even was this? Was Harry a secretary of some sort? Or was he a mediwizard, or—

   “Fuck,” Draco roared, nails digging into Harry’s ankles. The countertop made his knees ache, but it was so worth it.

   That cut off Harry’s train of thought before it had so much left the station. “Yes,” he gasped. “That’s it, oh yes—“ Harry cut himself off when he felt the first wave of his orgasm come over him.

   The second wave came with Draco came inside him so that his come dripped out of the stretched-open hole. “Harry,” Draco shuddered.

   “Can I call you Draco again?” Harry laughed breathlessly.

   Draco laughed with him before letting Harry’s legs down onto the counter. “I suppose,” he lamented before dipping down for a quick kiss. “Now, how about we get to that fireplace you love so much?”

   “Anything you say, Mr. Malfoy-Potter.”


	4. Third Flame From The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo! This took 5ever for me to get onto paper, but I really like the way this is shaping up. Thanks again, guys! This one is for Marco, because he’s my little babby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! This took 5ever for me to get onto paper, but I really like the way this is shaping up. Thanks again, guys! This one is for Marco, because he’s my little babby.

**Chapter 4: Third Flame From The Door**

   The finishing touch on the Frappuccino of Draco’s dreams was a perfectly-poured whipped cream pyramid. It would be the ‘cherry on top’ if Draco particularly liked cherries. Coffee was much better.

   Harry’s plain mug with three sugars and milk to the untrained eye may have looked rather plain and sad in comparison, but he couldn’t have been happier. That was his warm and comfortable cup of morning coffee that got him up for work, and it hadn’t failed him yet.

   “Husband of the year,” a drowsy Draco said with a grin. He was propped up on the absurd amount of champagne-colored pillows that they’d transferred from their old bedroom.

   After handing over Draco’s sugary delight Harry crawled back into bed with him. “Any time, love.” He sipped from his mug and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. “Do you know when you’ll be home tonight?”

   “Not a blessed clue. Why?”

   “I dunno. I was thinking we could have our first dinner here alone,” Harry shrugged. “Y’know, light some candles and make it fancy for you.”

   Draco’s whipped-cream-covered lips curved up. “I’ll try and get Maggie to cover for me.”

   “Good.”

   “And the Head Auror will be dismissing himself as he pleases,” Draco reminded him with pride. Not all of Lucius’ talk of marrying someone with a high status in the world had gone to waste.

   “Yeah,” Harry laughed before running his thumbs nervously along his mug handle. “And, um. Maybe this weekend we can start looking.”

   “Looking for…?”

   Harry took his head off of Draco’s shoulder and stared holes into the sheets. “You know. Agencies that could connect us with an adoption. I’m not really clear on how it all works, but we should start soon, you know? They probably have tons of couples waiting for babies or toddlers.”

   Slowly, Draco let that sink in. “Oh, right. Looking. Soon.”

   “Draco…”

   “It feels strange, okay? Shopping for a baby. Are they going to have them lined up in gender color-coded blankets?” he asked with an attempt at humor.

   Harry warmed up with a laugh. “Somehow, I doubt that. Maybe they’ll give us pictures.”

   “All babies look the same. How are we supposed to know if it’s going to look like us?”

   Shocked, Harry shifted so that his legs were crossed. “I didn’t realize,” he murmured. “That it was important.”

   “Come on,” Draco sighed before wrapping an arm around the other man. “You know I could care less about that, but _someone_ does.”

   “I don’t really care what _someone_ thinks.”

   “You know how hard it was to get father on our side for the wedding,” Draco pressed on. “I don’t want this to be a step backwards. I’ll try and break the news that we’re not jerking off into a turkey baster for a child with something he’ll at least appreciate. Pureblood, white, and blonde to make sure that father doesn’t slip some pernicious potion in our drinks.”

   “That,” Harry said quickly, pointing a finger at Draco. “That is racist, and supremacist, and—“

   Draco let out an exhausted sigh.

   “What? Am I crazy for being angry at you not wanting a baby with a different skin color? Would a muggleborn baby kill you, too?” Harry demanded. Sometimes, Draco could seem so forward-thinking, and then he had to go say something stupid like that.

   “It’s not me,” Draco insisted. “You know how my father is, and you know what lengths he can go to! I’m not a racist; Blaise is black!”

   Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s like people saying they can’t be homophobic because they’re our friends.”

   “Well, have you heard any of them say anything homophobic lately?”

   “That’s not the point!” he shouted, actually feeling his blood heat up in anger. “The point is that we’re getting whatever baby we can get, and if it’s a muggleborn, or a different race, or anything different from us, then it’s still our baby! That’s our _kid_.”

   Another frustrated noise escaped Draco. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not _stupid_ , I’m just trying to prevent another Malfoy meltdown.”

   “Well, I don’t agree with you,” Harry huffed before pushing his way back out of the bed and to their half-unpacked closet. “And it’s _stupid_ that the baby would have to be blonde.”

   Draco put down his Frappuccino and stood to challenge him. “I was only telling you what would quiet his rage after he figures out that we’re not doing in vitro. If you want him to go into catatonic shock, then please, go on with your brave crusading. Everyone will surely be happier for it.”

   “What’s more important to you?” Harry demanded as he pulled on his black Auror robes. “Your father’s approval—which by the way, you already have, and if this changes it then it was never real in the first place—or for me to start a family with you?”

   “What?” Draco scowled as he stalked his way up to Harry. “Are you really making me choose between you and my father like I can only have one of you? That’s not fair, Harry.”

   “What’s not fair is a baby being shunned from adoption because of something they couldn’t even control. Nobody picks how they’re born and you should know that.”

   Putting his head in his hands, Draco followed Harry’s steps—shaky with angry—down the stairs. “Fine! You believe in this so much? Then you tell him!” That probably meant certain death, but Draco was in enough of a snit to consider it.

   “Fine!” Harry echoed. “I will!”

   “Good!”

   “Great!”

   Harry barreled through the dining room to snatch a leftover piece of toast from the cupboards and made a mental note that a shopping trip was definitely in order.

   “I’m not a racist,” Draco sighed from his spot by the head of the dining room table. “And you know I don’t believe in any of that bullshit my parents taught me. Not anymore.” When Harry still didn’t respond and crunched away at his toast, Draco tried approaching him. “Don’t you know I got past that?”

   “Well, you were sounding like a real flashback,” Harry grumbled, mouth still full of toast.

   Draco nodded. He usually loved it when Harry was right, mostly because it involved a gratifying ending, but this time was bitter in his mouth.

   Crossing his arms, Harry swallowed the last bite of the toast. “Have anything else to say to me?”

   “Want a blowjob?”

   “ _Draco_.”

   “Fine!” Draco mumbled. “’M sorry. Though I’m sure a blowjob could have articulated that.”

   Harry rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll be expecting one when we have that dinner,” he warned him, still on-edge from the argument. “I love you.”

   “I love you too,” Draco said with a cautious smile. He really had fucked up that morning, hadn’t he? Hopefully he wouldn’t fuck up in front of their kid too much. One misplaced ‘mudblood’ and it would probably become their buzzword, and Harry would seethe. “Now go save the wizarding world from the perils of crime.”

   “After you cure the common cold,” Harry said wistfully before giving him a goodbye kiss.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Strapped to the bed was their latest haul. This one was definitely a teenager, and Pansy wondered where she knew him from when she recognized him. Maybe he was a pureblood, but at the moment he was screaming about hyperacidity and the theory of gravity. Apparently, even future scientists experimented with drugs.

   “You think being high would make someone more interesting,” Maggie sighed before sending the patient off with his furious parents trailing behind him.

   “Apparently,” Pansy snarked. “No amount of PCP, X, or GHB can make some people even remotely bearable.”

   Maggie laughed and gave her girlfriend’s shoulder a little nudge. “D’you think Pye is any more interesting when he lights up?” she asked with her teeth looking positively sharp when she grinned.

   The mental image of the Head Healer of St. Mungo’s so much as drinking a butterbeer was absurd in itself. “Hardly,” Pansy answered confidently.

   “Has he been to one your gatherings at your opium den?” Maggie teased. Even so, she wouldn’t put having an actual opium den past the Party Queen of Slytherin. Being with her had actually opened Maggie’s eyes to drugs she didn’t know existed.

   “Of course,” Pansy joked. “Maybe one day you’ll be A-List enough to get an invitation.”

   “Knowing you, the invitations would be done by a professional calligrapher.”

   She nodded with pride. “Of course I would. My opium den would be fabulously designed and have the absolute most exclusive and pure-cut opium.”

   “I don’t think you can cut opium,” Maggie laughed.

   “I’ll find a way.”

   Maggie snickered before slinging an arm around her. “Oh, Princess. You’re a real problem-solver. I admire that about you.”

   “You admire everything about me,” Pansy informed her with a regal tone. Sometimes, that nickname really did make her gigantic ego swell even larger. “There’s a lot to admire, so I don’t blame you.”

   “Monuments could be built to your modesty.”

   Pansy nodded happily before sneaking in a nip at Maggie’s neck. The fact that workplace fraternization wasn’t even close to allowed made the whole thing even sexier.

   “I am going to jump off the roof,” Draco announced from the opposite side of the hospital lobby. His white robes were covered in a mysterious purple substance that had both women laughing.

   Pansy was the first to poke fun. “Get into a fight with an eggplant?”

   “It would have been preferable,” he scowled before getting close enough to them so that he no longer needed to shout his complaints for the world to hear. “I just saved a woman from having jam for limbs for the rest of her life. She wanted to stay as jam, too.”

   “I suppose everyone has their dreams,” Maggie joked. “You should have let her gelatinous arse rot and get someone who really wants treatment in.”

   Draco almost agreed with her. The woman had been dragged in by her concerned brother in the first place. “Still not the strangest thing I’ve seen to go down with jam around here. Anyway, what are you two lovely ladies up to tonight?” he asked with a fake schmooze as they made a slow walk towards the employee locker rooms. Draco was looking forward to getting the hell out of there and tossing the white robes in the laundry.

   With a glint in her eye, Pansy shrugged. “Not sure. What bar do you want to scandalize tonight, Red?” That nickname wasn’t even close to Princess in accuracy, only playing off of Maggie’s mess of vibrant curls, but Pansy was determined to make it happen.

   “I’m going over to my mum’s tonight. I thought I told you this morning,” Maggie said with a raised eyebrow.

   Pansy scrambled to make up an excuse. “I know, I was just… Wondering if we could take her to a bar,” she lied. “You know, show her a good time.”

   Maggie could smell how fake that was from a mile away. Yet, instead of calling Pansy out on it, Maggie decided she would torture her as long as possible. “You want to meet my mum?” she asked innocently, with a hint of fake naivety that went below Pansy’s radar.

   “Uh.” Pansy Parkinson did not meet mothers, or fathers, or siblings, or household pets. Ever. At least she hadn’t thus far, considering she’d slept with enough people to keep her occupied with sex rather than family gatherings.

   “Tonight it’ll just be her and me, so quit looking so freaked out. But since you want to meet her, and she has wanted to meet you for a long while now, how does next week sound?” Maggie pressed on.

   “ _Uh_.”

   “Aw, meeting the mother,” Draco joined in with an amused look on his face. “You two really are getting serious.”

   “I know,” Maggie gushed facetiously, putting on an expert poker face.

   The horror on Pansy’s face was delectable. “I better be your Best Man at the wedding.”

   “No wedding!” Pansy shouted suddenly. “None. Zip. Nada. Zilch.”

   Draco and Maggie burst into a chorus of laughter. “I’m not on one knee just yet,” Maggie reassured her, giving Pansy’s arm a comforting rub. “But, really. How does next week look for you?”

   Still shaken, all Pansy could do was nod. “Yeah, er, I suppose I’ve got nothing to do then.” Pansy had been hoping for a weekend of sex and general debauchery and felt all of the pleasure she could have had fly away, too far from her fingertips.

   “Wonderful,” Maggie said smugly. Oh, this would be good. Seeing her Irish-Catholic mother take on the snooty-as-ever Pansy that Maggie—strangely enough—fancied so much would be the event of Maggie’s year.

   “I have to—Ah, get changed,” Pansy sputtered out before giving Maggie one of those ‘Don’t-Follow-Me’ looks.

   Pansy skittered off into the women’s locker room thankfully quickly. Draco and Maggie were close to letting their laughter boil over. “Did you see the look on her face? I think she just pissed herself.”

   “That can’t look good on her white cloak,” Maggie replied.

   Draco snickered. “You’re a wicked, wicked woman. You better warn your mother ahead of time that your girlfriend is a basket case.”

   “Oh, I’ve already told her.” Maggie was the sort that told it like it was. “Even told my dad.”

   It was unimaginable to Draco how Maggie could function with divorced parents. He could barely deal with explaining his life decisions once, let alone twice. “He jealous that his daughter is getting more than him?” Draco had met the man once, and it was crystal clear why Maggie’s mum had filed the divorce papers. Lazy and generally absent, that one was.

   “You’re a sicko.”

   “Am I?” Draco asked with a smile. “Then explain to me why I am baby shopping with Harry this weekend.”

   “Because you need someone to pass on your name and hopefully, just maybe, have the kid come out just as sick as you,” Maggie informed him.

   Draco had already considered the ‘bad influence’ aspect that his parenting would most likely have. Depending on what one saw as ‘bad’, he guessed. “I am already exposing them to the evils and sins of homosexuality.”

   “You’ll convert them, I’m sure of it,” Maggie teased. “But what if they come out to you as straight?”

   With a grin, Draco pretended to mull it over. “Disown them. Or I could become my father and try to micromanage their heterosexuality so it somehow works out in my favor.”

   Maggie laughed. “Something tells me,” she said. “That regardless of sexual orientation, your kid will be a deviant.”

   “Since the little bugger isn’t getting baptized, it’ll be in hell with Harry and I when we go.”

   “I look forward to running into you there.”

   “We’ll meet on the second level, or the sixth, whichever we end up on.” Would he be punished for being a heretic or a queer? It was Draco’s eternal question.

   “Third flame from the door,” the medi-witch planned as she strolled away to answer a call on a broken arm. It was maddening how many accidents went on when the children came back from school.

   “I guess you could say that we’re _flaming_!” Draco called after her. That pun was too good to pass up.

   Her curls shook as she walked away, and even though Draco couldn’t see, she was rolling her eyes with a smile on her face.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was late, again! Not just by a few minutes this time, either. Ronald Weasley, partner of the Head Auror, was two full hours late.

   There was a fiasco with Rose and the sitter, of course, resulting in Ron having to call every one of his relatives until Charlie finally responded an hour later. Then there was the issue of floo-ing Romania with a screaming child in his arms. Charlie wasn’t the best with children, but he wasn’t the worst. At least with him, Rosie would be constantly entertained.

   The girl had thrown a wild fit when confronted with the elderly woman that Hermione had hired to watch their baby. All Ron could understand between the garbled yells of her tantrum that the woman was ‘boe-ring!’ and ‘smellsy’.

   Nobody could throw a fit quite like Rose Weasley. Even Hermione couldn’t endure hours upon hours of their daughter crying and screaming like the world was coming to an end. As someone who had nearly witnessed the end of the world, Hermione and Ron couldn’t help but resent that. Not enough to make them stop loving her to pieces, but their nerves were fried. She was perhaps the fussiest baby on earth growing into the most ill-tempered toddler. Hermione had checked for every malady that could possibly afflict a baby, but Draco and about a dozen other Healers had just concluded she was going through a phase.

   The fact that Hermione was pregnant all over again—once more by accident—only served to complicate things.

   Draco had nearly died of laughter when he heard their birth control had failed them twice. He’d even given Ron a congratulatory pat on the back and told him that ‘now he knew why there were so many Weasleys in the world’.

   Considering Draco had helped deliver Rose, Ron looked past the fertility jokes.

   Pushing past a disgruntled politician out of the way, Ron zipped into the Auror’s department to be greeted by the rolling of eyes. “Sorry,” he gasped out, thrown off by how empty the cluster of offices and meeting rooms was. “Where…?”

   An intern delivering mail in the little wooden slots—the slot that Ron had not checked in days and seemed to be overflowing at the moment—was kinder than the stay Aurors. “Mr. Malfoy-Potter is in conference room six with the Minister.” She reminded Ron of Hermione with her bushy hair.

   “Thanks,” Ron nodded before practically sprinting to the room. He couldn’t be any later than he already was unless he wanted the damn Minister to suspend his sorry arse. Kingsley wasn’t terribly strict, but the man had a fire about him that made Ron think twice before ever getting in his way.

   “Wow,” an Auror with a long blonde ponytail muttered before showing her partner the card she had drawn from Harry’s grab-bag of minor cases. “Murder of a couple in ‘64.”

   It was the beginning of the month, which meant a ritual that Harry had introduced in his first months of being Head Auror when the cases coming in had mostly been broom accidents and minor domestics. He and Ron had gone into the archives and come upon the thousands of cold cases that had been boxed and stored after the trail went dead. It kept the department efficient, and had intrigued a certain Kingsley Shacklebolt.

   After all, solving more crime was never a problem, and the rare and few that were solved were big-profile cases. The statute of limitations on murder were nonexistent, so it was mostly murders, a few rape cases, war crimes, and a couple of grand larceny.

   “Mr. Weasley,” the Minister greeted warmly with only a hint of distaste for his tardiness. “So glad you could join us today. You missed the entire brief on the Anderson case, but I’m sure Harry can more than make up for that.”

   The dig didn’t go unnoticed, but Ron steeled his face. “Kid trouble,” he explained, challenging any one of those hardened Aurors to tell him to leave his crying daughter home alone. Out of everyone, they would know what it was like to fear the world harming another innocent. They’d seen what Ron had seen. “And I believe it’s our turn to draw.”

   With a smile, Harry handed him the bag. He would excuse Ron for anything having to do with his goddaughter, that adorable little thing. She always behaved for Uncle Harry.

   The velvety smooth bag shimmered in the office lights. Ron went with his gut, shoving a hand down the bag and yanking out the first little card he felt. “We’re solving this one,” he informed Harry. “I can feel it.”

   “What is it?” Harry asked, trying to peek across the table at the card.

   “You do the honors.”

   Harry accepted the card from him before turning it so the writing was right-side-up. “Oh.” A shock went through his spine lightning striking the ground. He knew that name.

   “Yes?” Kingsley asked before taking the card for himself. “Oh.”

   “You two keeping a secret from me?” Ron teased nervously before grabbing the card for himself. On it was a case file number, a location to find the materials involved, and a name. “Benjy Fenwick,” he read aloud. “Found murdered in 1981.”

   All Kingsley had to do was give the room an icy look and the Aurors cleared out the room, muttering what they suspected had shaken up their superiors.

   When the blonde Auror left, she shut the door behind her. The room was silent for a moment, but Ron knew better to interrupt Kingsley’s train of thought, so he focused on a knot on the dark wood in the wall. “He was in the Order.”

   Ron’s eyes went wide. “What?”

   “The first Order,” Harry clarified. This was just his luck.

   “I remember the day,” Kingsley nodded. “It was one of the last deaths of the first war. I woke up to Sirius Black shaking me like a madman and telling me that I had to get up, because they had Benjy. That was what we thought at the time, anyway. You see… There was only a hand at first. It had been mailed to Hogwarts, so we thought it to be a kidnapping. Maybe we could orchestrate a trade of prisoners, or something.”

   Harry remembered this story all too well. Mad-Eye Moody had told him it once during a long day at Grimmauld Place.

   “Then we found the parchment. All it had was two numbers on it.” Kingsley thought that this memory had almost left him, and there it was. Solemnly, he continued on. “Remus was smart enough to figure out that they were latitude and longitude, so we got a small squad to check it out. That was where we found the rest of his arm.”

   Ron’s stomach felt like it was going to fall out of his feet. “Oh.” Now he understood.

   “There was a note with the leg, too,” Kingsley went on. “Another riddle. Remus solved that one—it was some sort of anagram—and it led us to a leg and a more complex note. A few weeks later, Voldemort was gone, Sirius was in jail, and Remus didn’t quite feel like solving any more riddles.”

   “Well,” Ron said with a shiver. “Don’t you think the Death Eater that killed him is probably dead, too?”

   “Most likely,” Kingsley admitted before adjusting his royal blue robes. Suddenly, he had the urge to lock himself in his office for a few hours or a few days. “But it’s still unsolved, and we have a surplus of the bastards to interrogate in custody.”

   Something about the tension in the Minister’s voice had Harry feeling determined. It felt like a duty, to fill in the gaps of the Order member’s lives. He hadn’t even known this Benjy, but he had seen pictures of him standing with his parents, Sirius, Remus, Moody, _Peter_ … “We’ll start right away.”

   As much as it made his teeth clench and his stomach lurch, Ron nodded in agreement. “And you’ll work overtime,” Kingsley told them both. “To make up for some recent lateness.”

   Harry held back a groan. There went his dinner plans.

   “I’ll let you get to it. I have a meeting with the press at noon.”

   As fast as Kingsley had shown up to see Harry’s cold case solution-bag, he was gone. Harry didn’t was a second. “The archives,” he said disjointedly. “Let’s go.”

   Ron nodded before asking the obvious question. “Are you okay?”

   “What?”

   “With this, I mean.” Harry had taken the war like slugs took salt. It had changed him.

   “Yeah,” Harry said defensively. He had a therapist, a husband, and a support system. There was absolutely no way he was turning this down. “Now come on.”

   Ron nodded, following him without really believing him. They’d just have to be careful, he supposed.


	5. Perks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPRING BREAK, WOO! Exciting stuff. Thank again to all you lovely people reading this. Special shout-out to the person reading this fic in the United Arab Emirates, because I had no idea fanfiction.net’s servers even stretched that far. Kudos to you.

**Chapter 5: Perks**

   Self-employment was possibly the best decision that Theodore Nott had ever made.

   He’d closed up the shop for the afternoon to join his also self-employed boyfriend for a lunch date. While Theo’s career was in Potioneering—a service that many wizards considered essential—poor Colin had chosen a career in the arts. Sometimes he’d be working nonstop for weeks, and sometimes he’d be lying around the flat and shoveling down cheesy snacks for a month.

   Aside from the orange stains on the couch, Theo didn’t really mind. He liked living with him for many more reasons than the sex. Colin was easier to live with than Draco had been in Hogwarts since Draco had actually managed to annoy him from another bed away.

   Colin didn’t complain about every soul that annoyed him that day, or wake Theo up at strange hours of the night because he needed to talk.

   It was safe to say that Theo’s taste in friends and in boyfriends was vastly different; no matter how many times Draco accused him of having a thing for blondes.

   He could see Colin’s blonde hair from the other side of the diner at their usual table.

   “This seat taken?” Theo greeted him with a kiss.

   “Well,” Colin shrugged while trying to hide his smile. “I suppose it isn’t. How was work?”

   Theo didn’t even need to pick up the menu to figure out what he was going to order. “It was manageable. I got an order from a man planning his friend’s bachelor party for male enhancement, if that explains it,” he laughed.

   Colin snickered. “Sounds adventurous.”

   When the waiter took their orders, he did a double take. The poor bloke must’ve been new around there to not recognize Theo and Colin as regular customers yet recognize them from The Daily Prophet exposés. “Your food will be here soon, sir. Sirs,” he stumbled over his words before stumbling away to the kitchen.

    “Ah, the adoring fans,” Theo snarked. Being known as the son of a murderous psychopath had its perks.

   “Who can blame them? You look hot today.”

   “Just today?”

   Colin rolled his eyes fondly. “Every day.”

   The lull in actual conversation was strange. Usually, they could carry on about anything for hours without getting bored. Now Theo found himself staring at a salt-shaker and hoping for their food to arrive.

   When Theo noticed Colin squirming on his side of the booth, he knew something was up. “So,” he tried. “How was your day?”

   Oh, Colin was the absolute worst at keeping things to himself. It only took that question to crack him. “I talked to my father today,” he admitted as if it were a secret he’d been harboring for years.

   That was hardly scandalous. “How is he?” Theo asked. Colin’s dad was a great guy, and he’d been even better about Colin dating men, specifically Theo. It was refreshing to see someone who just wanted their kid to be happy.

   “He’s… Ugh, I can’t even pretend this is normal. This is so weird, and freaky, and gross,” Colin sighed. “You know how you met our ‘neighbor’ Helen at Christmas?”

   Theo nodded. “She seemed nice.”

   “Did you notice anything strange about the way she was acting with my dad?”

   “No, why?” They had just seemed like good friends, exchanging gifts, eating off of each other’s plates, talking about their deceased spouses, laughing in the room where the mistletoe was hanging… Oh.

   “Well,” Colin continued without noticing the look of realization on Theo’s face. “Dennis and I went over to his house for a late father’s day get-together because Dennis has a real job and stuff. He told us that him and Helen, that they’re—um, seeing each other? Oh, fuck, I am never going to get the mental image of them shagging out of my head.”

   Theo laughed before taking Colin’s hand in his. “I’m sure it’ll go away eventually.”

   “No way! This is sick, and wrong, and disgusting—“

   “Woah,” Theo stopped him. “That’s harsh. They’re probably happy together.”

   Colin shook his head in disbelief. Not once since his mother died had his father shown any interest in a relationship or anything of that sort. That was what soulmates did, right? Wait for each other? “I don’t like it.”

   A frown spread over Theo’s face. He’d always been able to relate to Colin on issues with his family, but this one was strange and foreign concept. Marcus Nott never had jumped back into the dating pool after spousal homicide got the better of him.

   “And I feel like an arse for not liking it,” Colin admitted quietly.

   “You’re not an arse.”

   “Doesn’t stop me from feeling like one! You should have seen his face when I said I had to leave for ‘work’. Even he knew that was a shitty lie.” Dennis had taken the news disturbingly well for Colin’s taste, but maybe that was because his little brother hadn’t known their mum for as long as he had. Dennis hadn’t seen them together like they had been.

   Theo shrugged. “You probably just need time to adjust. I think he’ll understand that.”

   “Yeah,” he murmured, suddenly wishing he hadn’t brought it up at all. Theo was being far too understanding and making too much sense. Colin would have rather wallowed in in his own distaste. No woman was wonderful enough for his father except his mother.

   “What’s going on in there?” Theo asked, reaching across the table to ruffle Colin’s hair. Keeping things in was unlike him.

   Leaning into his touch, Colin sighed. “I just wish that this wasn’t happening. I know my dad deserves to be with someone he fancies and all, but…” What he was thinking sounded dumb after a decade of dealing with it.

   “But you wish that your mum was still around.”

   Colin gave him a little smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But I suppose I have to accept the one parent I do have right now.”

   “I think you can try,” Theodore told him.

   “So long as they don’t hold hands in front of me or whatever.”

   “Merlin forbid,” he laughed at Colin. “I know how scandalizing that can be, seeing phalangeal contact. I’ll try and shield your virgin eyes if it ever happens in front of you.”

   Shooting Theo a baleful look, Colin graciously accepted his food from the starstruck waiter before Theo shooed him away. “I would think that you of all people know I’m no virgin.”

   “And I would think that you could handle a little physical contact,” Theo sighed before digging into his ribs. With barbeque around his mouth in a way that Colin found adorably classless for a pureblood, Theo amended his statement. “Nothing’s even happened yet. He had the decency to tell you, and you can see how it actually goes next time we’re all together. You may even wind up figuring out why your dad fancies her so much.”

   Colin shook his head like a little kid refusing to eat his vegetables. “No.”

   “Just try.”

   “No.”

   Theo narrowed his eyes and brought out the big guns. “For me?”

   “Ugh,” Colin groaned. That got him every time. “Only for lots of sex.”

   “Whatever gets them shagging out your mind,” he teased.

   Burying his head in his hands, Colin let out a distressed noise. “No. No thoughts of them shagging, ever! We are the only two people in the world who shag, ever.”

   “Then how do you account for all the babies in the world?” Theo asked, now amused with this new theory that was probably half joke and half serious traumatization from thinking about his dad in bed.

   “They spawned from the earth,” Colin decided with a smile, knowing how silly he sounded. “You plant kids like you do seeds, and then all you have to do is water them.”

   “That _would_ make Draco and Harry’s quest for a baby easier.”

   It was honestly the way the world should have worked, in Colin’s most humble opinion. “Exactly. Maybe you could come up for a potion for that.”

   “Sadly,” Theo grinned, glad for the change of topic. “Even I’m not that good.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “’Another scream from the vault. ‘ _Another scream from the vault_!” Harry read aloud, stopping short of screaming the words out for the whole world to hear.

   Ron frowned at his shouts. “I’m not sure reading it louder will help you understand what the hell the berk was talking about,” he grumbled. The first two clues were much more straightforward than this one. Maybe the Death Eater had descended into insanity as he made each clue. Ron hoped the man or woman who did this was tortured, especially mentally.

   “What could it be, though?” he asked from his desk. Harry’s office had expanded in size with his promotion, but it was still used purely for lounging around with Ron.

   “Some kind of vault. Maybe a Gringotts one?” Ron offered.

   “But there’s not even a clue to what number, or who it belongs to.”

   “Maybe that’s what the ‘scream’ bit is about.” The ‘scream’ bit could have also been the ramblings of a crazed killer, but if they were treating this like it was a clue, then Ron figured he may as well consider all the options.

   Harry wished it were that simple. After another minute of pensieve thinking and pointless scribbling with his quill, Harry started to think outside of the box. “Maybe the letters in ‘scream’ have numbers to them. Maybe the ‘another’ does, too. You know, the thing where ‘A’ is ‘one’ and ‘Z’ is ‘twenty-six’.”

   “Let me see.”

   Ron grabbed a piece of paper and Harry handed him his quill. After several tense minutes of scratching away at the paper, he was finally done. “’Scream’ is nineteen, three, five, one, and thirteen. That’s already too many numbers for a vault. Maybe if we added them…?”

   After some counting on his fingers, Harry figured it out. “Then that’s forty-one. Too low to be bigger than a fist,” Harry sighed.

   “Maybe we’ll find his fist,” Ron offered in a burst of dark humor.

   “You’re awful,” Harry decided, covering his smile. “And I would think the goblins would have noticed the smell.”

   “Fine. Then bugger the vaults idea. The ‘scream’ bit comes first, so that has to mean something.”

   Harry kicked his legs up onto the desk. The motion reminded him of what he had done to Draco the night before; another intrusion of Draco into every aspect of his life. Maybe Draco would soon fill every corner of his brain, and then Harry could live his days blissfully unaware of his diminished capacity. “Scream,” he said again in spite of the fact that it also brought back memories of the night before. “Where do people go to scream?”

   “You think the bastard hid something in an amusement park?” Ron asked in disbelief.

   “No,” Harry admitted. “It has nothing to do with vaults.”

   The small orb to the side of Harry’s desk went from a calm, clear mist to a sea of red. “Someone needs backup.” That had also been one of Harry’s additions to the Auror department, per Draco’s request. He liked his husband in one piece.

   On instinct, Ron and Harry grabbed the device. A flurry of lights and pressure spun around them. Ron always joked that the teleportation made him feel like he was being born all over again.

   “Auror Department!” Harry yelled as the world came back into focus. His wand was already outstretched and at the ready to attack. “Drop your wands!”

   It took Harry a few seconds to actually figure out where they were, but everything lined up when he smelt the air. They were by the sea, and another Auror was face-down in the sand. Ron rushed to make sure he still had a pulse—and thank Merlin, he did—while Harry’s presence seemed to intimidate the criminal enough to get them to freeze on the spot.

   Being famous for murder did have its advantages. The two kids—they were teenagers, admittedly, but Harry could care less—dropped their wands immediately at the sight of their hero.

   “I’m sorry!” the ginger one yelled out immediately. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry! Look, we can explain!”

   Harry had magic cuffs around both of their wrists in seconds. What the hell had happened here? “You can explain it back at the station.”

   The dark-haired one was hardly as cooperative. The first thing the dumbarse did was try and make a run for it. Harry dragged him back to their spot on the beach with ease, out of the corner of his eye seeing Ron help up the rookie Auror that had been unlucky enough to encounter the youth of the wizarding world.

   “Stay here,” Harry snapped at him. They’d interrupted his case study and knocked down a trainee, doubtlessly with magic. “On top of some charges for assault on an officer of the law, somebody here has clearly gone against the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.”

   “We didn’t mean to hurt him,” the ginger spoke again. His voice was crackly and pitchy like it was changing right in front of everyone.

   Harry squinted at him. “Then what exactly were you trying to do, ask him out for coffee?”

   “He got in the way.”

   When the dark-haired boy spoke, his voice was much more mature. It was richer; fuller. “In the way of what?” Harry demanded. He usually never conducted interviews in the middle of the coastline, but this seemed to be a lovely exception.

   The ginger cut back in. “Teenager stuff. You know how that is, right?”

   Ron and Harry laughed. “I dunno, mate, do we know how that is?” Harry asked him.

   “Probably not,” Ron grinned before grabbing ahold of the other boy for a side-along apparation. “We were a bit busy back then.”

   “You’re still busy now,” the rookie Auror tried, hoping his humor would save how tremendously he had fucked up his job. Who let a student disarm them?

   When his joke was met with silence, the man backed down again.

   “Let’s do the rest of this at the Ministry, hm? That way we can call their parents,” Ron suggested purely to get the perpetrators close to pissing their pants. Hell had no fury like Molly Weasley scorned, and there were many Molly Weasleys in the world.

   The ginger’s eyes went so wide his freckles stretched.

   Catching each other’s eyes before they all apparated back, Ron and Harry were secretly grateful for the end to their puzzle solving for the day. They weren’t Remus, or Hermione, or even Draco, and as the hours trickled by without a single lead, they began to wonder if they should involve the intelligent people in their lives.

   Sure, sure, that was sharing confidential information with a citizen, but Harry had learned a few things about there being a means to an end in some situations. Harry wanted this to end more than anything.

   So they brought the delinquents in, separated their interview rooms, and grilled them with an inspired passion that was most definitely unnecessary for a misdemeanor. They were good at that, Ron and Harry. Certainly better at it than solving riddles.

   But even when all was said and done, and the boys were booked and charged, that note would still be sitting on Harry’s desk. That note would rot there like Benjy most likely had in whatever vault his body parts were being kept in.

   At three-thirty, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter would sit down in the Head Auror’s office and try again anyway. They’d both agreed that bringing it up to Remus was a last resort, and they weren’t that desperate.

   Not yet, anyway.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “This is _expensive_ ,” Olivia breathed. She’d discovered a discarded receipt for the furniture in her room.

   It honestly should not have been that much of a shock. The curtains alone were one of the most divine things Olivia has ever laid eyes on. Clusters of dark flowers danced over the lavender fabric whenever the wind blew, and they were the softest thing she’d ever felt. It was more like a cloud than fabric.

   The rest of the bedroom was just as beautiful. Remus and Sirius had gone wild looking through catalogues and stores to find every tastefully-placed accent, and had charmed the drawers in her desk to hold much more than they let on.

   Even Draco had declared it to be ‘marvelous’ upon seeing it.

   Sirius frowned before taking the receipt off of the lavender bed. “I thought I’d gotten rid of this. Sorry.”

   “It’s _expensive_ ,” she repeated, eyes wide with shock.

   “If you think that’s bad, then you should just see how much the closet renovation cost,” Remus teased. His husband had a proclivity towards going overboard.

   Olivia blinked. “Closet renovation?” She had barely even started unpacking her clothes, and most of them fit perfectly into the drawers that were provided. Why would she need an additional closet?

   “Nothing is to too good for you,” Sirius declared with a flourish before twisting the crystal doorknob of her closet open.

   If Pansy Parkinson were there, she would have died and gone to heaven.

   Empty drawers lined the sides while the feature pieces were three gigantic mirrors, angled so that whoever stood in the center of them could see every side of themself. On top of the drawers were spacious bars to hang clothing that stretched long and came complete with soft hangers that Sirius may or may not have bought at a sex shop. They were nice hangers, okay?

   Adorning the inside of the door was a contraption that looked like it could hold a hundred shoes. Ring holders, necklace holders, bracelet holders and more covered the porcelain space beneath the hangers, and there was even a rack for earrings. Olivia only owned one pair of earrings.

   “What,” she said slowly, not even bothering to finish her sentence or make it sound like a question. Just ‘what’.

   “I was going to tell you later,” Remus said, giving his husband a look before stringing an arm around his shoulders. “But we want to take you shopping so you can fill it.”

   Olivia could have cried. She read every fashion magazine she could get her hands on, designed outfits in her head, and had been doomed so long to wear a Hogwarts uniform and charity clothes during the summer.

   When Sirius and Remus saw her reaction, they carefully walked over to her. “Liv?” Sirius asked cautiously only to have her launch herself at the both of them for a massive hug.

   “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll be good, and I’ll get good grades, and I’ll never do drugs, and I’ll clean up around the house, and—“

   “You don’t have to do any of that,” Sirius told her before Remus gave him a little shove. “Okay, yes, the good grades would be favorable, but you don’t have to work for this or anything.” Another shove hit Sirius’ arm. “And _fine_ , you can’t do drugs; not on your own, anyway. We’ll just do them when Remus isn’t around.”

   Remus rolled his eyes. The cloud of smoke that was his and Sirius’ fifth year had not been forgotten.

   “But I owe you,” Olivia continued before backing away. It was funny to think about, but they both smelled nice when he hugged them. Not in a perfume sort of way, but it was still nice.

   Sirius shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

   “Olivia,” Remus told her. “Money is never an issue, and we don’t want you to worry about that.” He’d warned Sirius about the opulence of all this, and there they were. “You don’t have to feel indebted to us because we want to do this for you.”

   Olivia shook her head right back at them. “I’ll get a job. I’ll bag groceries or something.”

   “That’s not necessary—“

   “I’m going to,” she decided before realizing her hands had curled into fists. There was something so unnerving about taking all of this beautiful new life without having earned any of it. “You said I could do whatever I wanted while I stayed here.”

   Well, she had them there. Remus and Sirius had thought that she’d take that as being able to read their books and eat their food, but it was true of this, too. “Yes,” Remus tried. “But I’m telling you that you don’t have to.”

   She nodded before walking to close her closet door. “I know, but I want to.”

   “Sweetheart, you’re thirteen—“

   “Can you call me down when dinner’s ready?” she asked. Olivia would show them how grateful she was; she had to. This was more than she ever deserved.

   Confused, Remus nodded.

   “Call us if you need anything,” Sirius added.

   “Thanks.” See, they even understood when she needed space! It was almost too much. Olivia wondered if that was an excuse to terminate an adoption: the parents were too good at being parents, and the fear of screwing it up might drive her mad.

   The door closed behind them, and Remus gave Sirius one of his signature looks.

   “What?” he asked as they thudded back down to the kitchen.

   “I knew it was too much.”

   “I don’t need an ‘I Told You So’, Moony,” Sirius sighed. “And you are such a hypocrite for saying that she can’t do drugs.”

   Remus’ jaw nearly hit the floor. “Sirius! Do you even hear yourself right now? And you’re changing the subject!”

   “I remember vividly how randy a certain werewolf got whenever he toked up.”

   “That’s because a certain werewolf was young and stupid,” Remus muttered, remembering how James had been the one to introduce them to the wonderful world of smoking Gillyweed. The very first trip they’d ever had as Marauders ended in a group snuggle, which was incredibly heterosexual of them.

   “Don’t you think everyone has a right to be young and stupid? So long as she does it in Hogwarts or at home, we can at least make sure she’s safe,” Sirius went on. “You can’t make her mistakes for her.”

   “But I don’t want her to have any ‘mistakes’ that involve drugs!”

   Sirius rested his hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Do you know what I think you need?” he asked mischievously before curling his hand upwards to cup Remus’ jaw.

   “Better taste in men?”

   “Nope. I think you need a reminder of how wild you really are,” Sirius told him. “You think that we’ve got a child in the home and now you’re tamed? Tsk, tsk. I remember the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head when I made you come while you were high.”

   That was true. Very, very true. “We are not teenagers anymore, Padfoot,” Remus pointed out. “Where do middle-aged men even acquire weed?”

   Sirius laughed, mostly because he had no idea. “We can figure it out! You’re a genius and I’m an ex-con. I’m surprised we’re not already hooked up with a dealer.”

   “Nutter,” Remus said fondly before giving him a quick kiss.

   “You’ll see,” Sirius said as he kissed Remus again, harder this time. “I will find some and you will be delighted. Orgasmic, even.”

   All Remus could really do was kiss him back. “It sounds as if you’ve made up your mind.”

   “I have!” Another argument, expertly avoided by Sirius Lupin. He would have requested a standing ovation if there was anyone watching them.

   That dream lasted all of five seconds. “And we can smoke it while Olivia’s being harassed by some customer at the grocery store she’s apparently going to be working at.”

   With a groan, Sirius walked to the stove to finish their meals.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Maybe it was sentimental, but Harry liked to think that he and Draco fit flawlessly when they sucked each other off at the same time. His long torso finally evened out with Draco’s long legs.

   The only unfortunate part about the position was that he couldn’t really get a word of approval out to Draco. He would have to remain content with moaning around Draco’s fat cock and hoping some of those moans sounded like Draco’s name.

   Gently, they rocked their hips in sync. It was to a beat only they could hear, and as always, Draco was an excellent musician.

   His nails dug into Harry’s hips, but he barely put up any resistance to the way Harry fucked his mouth. Draco sucked and lapped eagerly with an unrivaled oral fixation. Harry whimpered around Draco’s prick when he felt his go that deeply into Draco’s throat.

   “Mbfpw,” Harry tried.

   Draco bared his teeth against Harry’s sensitive flesh to get another rise out of him. The noise he made was sharp and shocked, causing his throat to almost slam shut around Draco.

   “Fuocfk youf,” Harry mumbled, moving back to suck the tip and tease Draco for better articulation.

   In response, Draco gave Harry’s arse a spank. The jolt sent signals straight to his cock and immediately whipped him back into submission, taking the rest of Draco’s shaft in his mouth.

   That was when things got interesting.

   Draco’s thrusts got faster and faster, pushing so deep that Harry felt himself gag. It was strange how much he wanted it, even though choking on cock probably was not a normal person’s idea of a romantic evening.

   Harry bobbed his head to meet him, sputtering as his own hips pushed forward. There was drool all around his lips and mouth in a crude display of just how brutal Draco could be.

   The slap of skin punctuated each movement and filled Harry’s ears. He knew exactly when Draco was close to coming. It was the tension in his thighs, the frantic breathing, and the groans that Harry felt vibrate against his prick.

  Their release hit at the same time, each moaning around the other. Harry swallowed every drop just as Draco did before slowly pulling off of each other with a wet ‘pop’.

   “You,” Harry panted, finally able to breathe through his mouth again. “Love you.”

   Draco laughed breathily. “I love you too.” And he was finally able to say it liberally.

   With that, Harry returned to his upright position to kiss that grin right off of Draco’s face. Smug, sexy bastard.

   “Dream of me,” Draco teased.

   “How dare you wish nightmares on me.”

   Draco pinched his side. “Prat.”

   “Double-prat,” Harry countered sleepily. It was the last thing he would smile about before falling asleep.


	6. Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Reneh, because I said so. She may have divorced me but she’s still pretty cool.

**Chapter 6: Business**

   “No,” Grace whispered when she realized what was happening. “No, no, no!” her voice climbed.

   In the back of her mind she’d known that such a famous couple would have plenty of protection around their home—especially after the nightmare they’d endured at the hands of the press—but she hadn’t expected it to be like this.

   Whoever had done Draco and Harry’s security work had sealed the place tighter than Buckingham Palace. Grace couldn’t even walk within the neighbor’s yards without feeling herself get disoriented and all turned around.

   Maybe that was a good thing, though. Nobody could ever rob her child’s house.

   At the moment, however, it was frustrating and nauseating. Grace had already thrown up once that morning, and she didn’t fancy doing it again.

   Carefully, she drew her wand. With her eyes shut, Grace could do something that Professor Lupin liked to call ‘sort of incredible’ after having taught it to her in a private lesson. Grace’s aunt had swooned when she heard her niece was among the top percentile of her year at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she’d demanded that Grace hone her skills.

   At least Grace actually liked DADA, unlike her aunt’s pushing for her to play piano because of her ‘long, shapely fingers’. Those had been cruel hours glued to a piano bench.

   Anyway, she could feel herself digress as the Confundus charms pushed deeper in her mind. Back to breaking into her baby’s hopeful adoptive parent’s house.

   Grace shut her eyes tight. It was almost like feeling around for a light switch in the dark, and it had taken months to master.

   Like this, Grace could feel around for weak spots in the protective spheres surrounding the house. Slowly, she made her way towards the right of the house. There was something on the East side! Or was it the West? No, it was definitely the East.

   That could have also been the heat coming from the stove, to think of it. Wait, the stove? Yes! There was a weak spot near the stove. Or the stove was just hot.

   If only Grace could get in the door, if she could be there, they’d know that they’d have to choose her.

   That was what she told herself, anyway. Grace didn’t believe in fate or any of that shit, mostly because it just wasn’t scientifically sound. She’d been brought up in muggle schools until Hogwarts, and her aunt had always stressed the importance of listening in science class. That was the foundation of the world that held all of their magic, of course.

   Grace’s mother had been killed at a young age, so even without her aunt’s prompting, she probably would have remained godless.

   Wait—was that it? Was that the weak spot? Yes! She’d done it, she’d found it, she’d fallen to the ground, she’d heard an alarm sound. Her vision went dark, but she couldn’t remember closing her eyes.

   “For fuck’s sake. Draco, your father’s security system snared a kid.”

   “Is that the paper girl?”

   “No, I don’t think so. What’s your name? Shit, Draco, her eyes aren’t moving.”

   “Get her inside and we’ll wait for her to wake up. If she doesn’t, well, then you’re going to have to get my father out of Azkaban for a second time.”

   “This isn’t funny. You’re sick.”

   “Bah. You love me.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The first thing Grace regained was her sense of smell.

   Something was cooking, something meaty and spicy. It was strong enough to make her sinuses clear from all the pollen she’d breathed in outside.

   It took far too long for her eyes to come into focus with the world around her. For a confusing moment, all she could see was a blurry mess of colors and blobs. If she’d have been able to access her voice, Grace may have yelled.

   In the distance, there were voices. “You can’t baby them, Lucius!” a man yelled. “Look at what it does!”

   “I am not babying them,” who Grace supposed was Lucius Malfoy replied. She shivered. It hadn’t been a total failure at all, and Tiffany would owe her a galleon. Never bet against a determined Slytherin. “I’m trying to get them to properly protect themselves!”

   “Would the both of you—“ Was that _Harry Potter_? Well, Malfoy-Potter now.

   “I know you want to speed up the arrival of your heirs, but this is just ridiculous. They’ll adopt whenever they’re ready and they don’t need your help with it. You managed to raise a kid without your parents sticking their nose in everything.”

   “ _Sirius_ ,” Professor Lupin sighed.

   “ _Adopting_?” a woman asked, clearly shocked.

   Someone huffed from the other room. “Yes, we are adopting.”

   Yes! Grace sat up on the sofa, knowing that this was her chance.

   “Why in the world would you do that?” Lucius demanded. “Draco, we’ve talked about this. You know the fortune needs and heir, and the Manor needs a caretaker.”

   “Just because the child won’t have your genes doesn’t mean they can’t be a suitable heir,” Harry snarled before Draco could even speak.

   Carefully, Grace walked towards the source of the shouting. It was just around a corner and in the kitchen, where she was finally able to peek in on the chaos.

   Within were three sets of couples, all of them looking annoyed with one another for a variety of reasons. The grand and embellished Malfoys were in the usual style of snotty pureblood robes. Precious gems around Narcissa’s neck, and a large emerald at the top what looked like Lucius’ new cane. They had a ring on every finger, and were the picture of wealth.

   Across from them was a couple with just as much money, but not even close to as much arrogance. Professor Lupin was dressed in a striped button-down, his pale brown robe draped over one of the kitchen chairs. Opposite from him was the always-eccentric Sirius, with a formal vest and pocket watch on for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than his own fancies. His curly, dark hair fell down to his shoulders and his hands were folded in a defensive stance.

   In the middle of their relatives and in-laws were Draco and Harry. They looked slightly different in person, and Harry looked even shorter. It made her smile.

   “You can’t control them like this—“ Sirius began.

   “Oh, would you quit acting out your strange fantasy of defying your parents through us? I happen to be looking out for Draco’s best interest.”

   “Lucius,” Narcissa hissed. Talk of Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion was strictly forbidden.

   “Do you know what this isn’t about?” Remus cut in finally out of a fierce protectiveness. “Anyone but you. There’s a student of mine in the living room because you knocked her out with your spells! There’s protection and then there’s malicious intent.”

   “Moony—“

   “Sirius, shut up. I’m defending your honor.”

   “ _Moony_.” Sirius gave his husband a nudge and pointed to the girl in the doorway.

   Draco jumped on the opportunity. “Are you hurt?” he asked quickly. “I’m a Healer. Are you dizzy? Are you faint?”

   Draco’s father came seconds after. “We can give you the money to make this go away,” he said, determined. “There’s no need to sue, or notify papers—“

   “Would you two get off of her?” Narcissa demanded, ending the barrage of noise. “Honestly.” She forced the Malfoy men back and went to look Grace in the eyes. “We’re so incredibly sorry about this.”

   “Who is she again?” Sirius whispered Remus, brow furrowing. It was tough to remember all of Remus’ students that they weren’t adopting.

   “Grace Burbage. Sixth year.”

   At once, the Malfoy’s heads snapped around. It left Harry looking confused and lost. “Burbage?” Lucius whispered, though he didn’t want to hear confirmation at all. This was a nightmare. The girl would sue, and then she would kill them all.

   Draco swallowed back his fear. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” he asked carefully. Draco couldn’t afford to think back to that night in the Manor. Not after he’d come so far.

 _"Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles..."_ Tom Riddle’s voice echoed in his mind.

   “I’m not going to sue,” Grace said slowly, breaking her silence. She had no idea what the family she was prepared to give her unwanted offspring in had to do with her mother’s death. “But, yes. I think I’ll go to the hospital.”

   To Grace, this was her chance. She would go to hospital and make her pitch; she could even hold suing against them. It was an underhanded move, but these were desperate times.

   But that was if all else failed. Grace would hold that card close to her chest and play it only if necessary. For now, the plan was still to get them to willingly take the fetus.

   “Hospital,” Lucius nodded, nudging his son.

   “Right,” Draco replied. Harry cast him a look wondering what was going on, but he got no response.

 _"Severus, please. We're friends."_ She’d begged. Merlin, she’d begged.

   Carefully, Draco nodded. “Terribly sorry, yes. Come to the fireplace with me and I’ll get you to St. Mungo’s, free of charge.”

   Harry wouldn’t let this go without an explanation. He grabbed on to Draco’s arm before his husband could wriggle out of the door. “Draco, what’s going on?”

   “Taking her to St. Mungo’s. _Stay with my parents_.” Draco wrapped his hand around Grace’s wrist before yanking her back into the living room.

   Before Harry could as much as protest, they were gone. He was left dumbfounded in his kitchen, surrounded by relatives that only ever got along when the subject of children was a thousand miles away.

   There had been rare, beautiful moments of peace between the Lupins and the Malfoys. It seemed that was coming to an end.

   When they left, Narcissa let out a breath she’d been holding. For a moment there, she could have sworn she was drowning.

   “Narcissa,” Remus said carefully. He knew what this was about; he just didn’t know when or where it had happened. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

   She looked to her cousin-in-law and nodded blankly before Remus could guide her and her shell-shocked husband to the dining room table.

   Harry followed alongside Sirius, who’d gotten the picture as soon as he’d head her last name. “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Harry asked, looking around the room for any guidance whatsoever.

   Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. They knew how to plan wordlessly and communicate solely with head nods from all the sneaking around they’d done in Hogwarts. “Harry,” Sirius said gently. “Did you ever take Muggle Studies at Hogwarts?”

   “No,” he shook his head.

   “Take a walk with me.” Sirius phrased it like a question, but Harry really had no choice. His arm slung around Harry’s shoulders and guided him towards the door, away from the wreckage that was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

   Confused, Harry followed his godfather in search of answers.

   When the door closed behind them, Remus took his seat at the dinner table. He’d have to be home in an hour to check up on Olivia, but he figured some time alone in the house would be good.

   “When was it?” he asked softly. Remus’ worst fears had been realized when he’d seen the look on Draco’s face. It was clear that the poor boy had been there.

   “July,” Narcissa murmured. She wasn’t sure what day. “Thank Salazar the girl didn’t know anything about it.” Her mother had died on their bloody dining room table, and she had no idea that the Malfoys were involved.

   Lucius had gone silent. He didn’t like to remember that July.

   “What happened?”

   “Remus,” Narcissa sighed. “That’s not necessary.”

   He shook his head. “Maybe not for you, no, but I have too many dead friends without a burial place.” Regulus, Caradoc, Alastor, Benjy, Charity, and more. There were never proper funerals because their bodies had been taken from The Order, drowned, and sliced up.

   “She was captured in the school by Wormtail,” Lucius said clinically, cold. “He brought her to the Manor, and Voldemort killed her. There’s no body because he fed her to his snake. Does that _satisfy_ you, Lupin?”

   “No.” Remus stood to excuse himself. The whole thing made him sick, and he hadn’t thought about Wormtail in a long time. Maybe Remus would take his Padfoot’s offer of a blunt up right then and there.

   Lucius kept his eyes on the table, accepting his wife’s hand only for a moment.

It had actually happened on the table that Lucius’ mother had given them for their wedding. He’d felt guilty when he burnt it, but only for a moment.

   Every time he looked at it he heard the same thing.

   _"'Avada Kedavra. Nagini, dinner."_

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Why Grace had requested a blood test was beyond Draco. It would take a day to process with the work load he had, and she hadn’t even bled when she fell.

   Draco did it anyway to avoid any sort of lawsuit he could have incurred through her.

   “Thank you,” she said, trying to sit up straight the way that the pureblood girls in her class did.

   “Any time.” Draco really meant that, too. “We’re changing that security system, too.”

   Grace shrugged. “If I was a burglar, it would have worked perfectly.”

   While Lucius would appreciate that sentiment, Draco did not. As he washed his hands again—it was the worst part about being a Healer, always washing, washing, _washing_ —Draco tried to think of what to say to the girl. She was a teenager. Too young for Draco to give her the saucy details of his evening and too old to be asked what her favorite color was.

   It was a conundrum, and Draco had no idea how Remus dealt with that. Then again, Draco could remember a few curse words and dirty jokes being dropped by Professor Lupin. That had probably grown with age, and even more with the seventh years.

   “So,” Draco tried. “What brought you to the neighborhood?”

   The girl’s eyes darted away. Explaining herself this early on would make her sound crazy. Then again, all of this would make her sound crazy. “I’d rather not say it right now,” she decided slowly, playing the role of the innocent girl to maybe garner some sympathy. Playing the ‘orphan’ card was her specialty, too. “It’s kind of complicated.”

   Draco shrugged. At least she was honest. It would’ve been funnier to see her lie about selling Girl Scout cookies or whatever, but honesty was always appreciated. “Boy troubles?” he teased. That was what teen girls liked, right? Except the lesbians. Shit, he should’ve put ‘or girl’ in there. Draco was such a bad gay.

   “Pretty much,” Grace sighed.

   Oh, marvelous. Draco had gotten it right. “He probably doesn’t deserve you,” he shrugged. That was what Draco had told Pansy after every bad break up she went through.

   “Actually,” she told him. “He was the one who dumped me.”

   “What? That’s absolutely absurd. Were you going to go egg his house?” Draco had only seen that in muggle movies Harry showed him, but it looked like a practical revenge tactic.

   Grace shook her head.

   “Were you going to hex him?”

   “Um, well, the thing is: I was by your house because of a boy problem. The boy himself is no longer relevant.” She had to think of a way to get Harry and Draco in a room together. Then maybe she could convince them. At least they were looking into adoption.

   Draco cocked an eyebrow, trying to figure out what she was saying. “Then what is relevant?”

   “I’d rather tell you… Over drinks. And food.”

   Was this bitch seriously trying to squeeze a meal out of Draco? She had heard Lucius’ ramblings and she knew how rich they were… Ugh, this was the last thing he needed. “I actually had dinner plans with Harry tonight, sorry,” he brushed her off. “It’s taco night.”

   “I love tacos!” Grace responded, her innocent act faltering as her true colors shone through. “Was that what was cooking earlier? It smelled delicious.”

   Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “You show up at our house,” Draco said slowly as he pieced it all together. “You have some sort of boyfriend issues, and then you pass out because of our security system. You realize I’m not stupid enough to think that’s normal, right?”

   Alright, the sweet ignorance was over. “I have a business proposition,” she said as she shifted back into her normal Slytherin self.

   “I’m not interested in time shares in the Virgin Islands.”

   “I’m aware.”

   “Then what are you offering?” he demanded. What kind of sixteen year-old even ran a business?

   Grace crossed her ankles. “My Aunt always told me that it’s best to break bread before going to the Break Room.”

   “Tacos are not bread,” Draco claimed as a valid excuse to deny anything she had to say.

   “The tortilla part is technically a grain.”

   “Fuck grains. I’m going home, got it?”

   She stood up quickly and followed him as he left. “Wait!”

   “What? You’re getting what you wanted,” Draco growled as he continued his brisk walk to the fireplace entrances. “I’ll hear you out on my way back.”

   “But now you’re mad!” Grace argued, visibly upset.

   “I’d like to think the anger is justified, yes.”

   “But you won’t listen to me now,” she despaired. “And I think you’d be really, really interested in this.”

   Draco turned on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Give me one good reason why I should listen to you after all of this that isn’t some vague sales pitch.”

   “Because I have blonde hair, grey eyes, and my ex was a brunette with green eyes.”

   Suddenly, it clicked.

   “I haven’t drunk a sip of alcohol at all,” she continued. “I have no STDs, and you’ll see that in the blood test. I’ve been staying at my friend’s house and nobody knows. I went to a free clinic and they said that it looks all clear and on-track.”

   The people rushing around the hospital were just wisps of color around them. “I have no idea who you are,” he said quietly, tense all over. “And I don’t really care. Give your number to one of the medi-witches, but you are _not_ coming back home with me tonight.”

   “Why not?” Grace asked, distraught. Things had been going downhill, but she felt she could turn it around like she always did.

   “Because I said so. I don’t owe you anything, you know. Now I also have to go back to my house and deal with my father who had no idea Harry and I were even adopting, douse that fire, and any other ones that may have started while I was gone.”

   Grace swallowed her nerves. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

   Of course, Draco was the sort to never think apologies were quite enough. “Well, you did. This isn’t Hogwarts and I’m not your fairy godmother,” he snapped. He knew that they were searching for a child, not a mother, but still. Draco couldn’t let every pregnant teenager into his home for a bloody interview. “You are going to fill out a form.”

   “I can do that.”

   “You are going to go see a Healer here for a physical and mental checkup,” Draco continued. “We will put your name in the selection, and we will assess—out of the many offers that we will receive—each and every aspect of this.”

   Oh, his father was going to murder him.

   “Then, and only then will I consider speaking to you again. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. It had been a stressful enough day already. “You don’t come near us, you don’t faint on our lawn, and you don’t eat our tacos.”

   “I won’t let you down,” Grace blurted out. The fire in Draco’s eyes made her skin crawl with nervousness, and gave her a serious case of verbal vomit.

   Luckily, Draco disappeared into the fireplace before she could say anything too incriminating.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “No!” Draco yelled the second he entered his home and saw everyone sitting in the parlor, clearly mid-argument. His beautiful, tastefully-decorated parlor being desecrated by the insanity of his family. Draco could have wept. “Nope. I’m going to bed.”

   Harry gave him an exasperated look. “ _Draco_.” After his walk with Sirius, he would have happily joined him, but the prospect of being left alone with their family for a second longer had Harry considering apparation.

   “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow? Or maybe never?”

   “It’s all your godfather-in-laws can seem to talk about at all,” Lucius muttered, casting the Lupins a look.

   Sirius shot him a look right back. “That’s because you’re micromanaging. It’s unhealthy. You know what you need? A spa day. Maybe you’ve just never learned how to unclench.”

   “Oh, and you have?”

   A lecherous grin spread on Sirius’ face. “I dunno,” he said, turning to Remus. “Have I?”

   The room let out a collective groan.

   “That aside,” Remus continued as the corners of his mouth were tugged up into a smile. “I don’t think there should be a ‘we’ in talking about Draco and Harry’s child. We’ll support them in whatever they do.”

   Sirius nodded in agreement. “And we have to get back home to our child-thing. I would suggest you both do the same.”

   Narcissa, exhausted from the arguing and from seeing that _girl_ , agreed. “Lucius, darling—“

   “This is what you want?” The Malfoy patriarch ignored the rest of the room, his eyes locking dead with Draco’s.

   “Er.” Sure it was, right? Oh, Harry was going to kick his arse for taking such a long pause. “It is.”

   “You want a child that has no blood relation to you with the knowledge that it will be harder for you as a same-sex couple to adopt?”

   Since when had Lucius been studying up on queer adoption politics? “There are contracts we can have made,” Harry started before Lucius made a hand motion to silence him. This was about what his Draco wanted, and nothing more.

   “I want a family with Harry,” Draco said with a little more determination. “And I agree with him when he says that there are too many children that go without homes and food to bring another into this world and ignore the masses.”

   “So this is a _moral_ decision,” Lucius sighed, exasperated.

   Behind the heated discussion, Remus and Sirius gave their goodbye hugs and kisses to Harry and Draco.

   Draco steeled his breathing. “It’s the decision we’re making. Don’t fight me on this, father. Please. Once we take care of all the legal work—and you can bring the family lawyers in, if you want—then the child will be ours and you know that they’ll inherit the Manor.”

   A long, tense moment of eye-contact lingered between Lucius and his son.

   The ‘please’ may have done him in, but Lucius wasn’t going to show it right away. Not in front of all of these people; his pride was too delicate for that.

   Even Remus and Sirius paused at the door for a moment to hear the end of the silence that gripped the room, and poor Narcissa felt as on-edge as ever.

   “Then the family lawyers will help,” Lucius said finally. “And I want to review the candidates.” After all, Draco was so spoiled because Lucius, in the end, had a problem with telling him ‘no’.

   Harry and Draco let out a collective sigh of relief. That couldn’t be too awful, could it? Draco would inform his husband of their first offer that he had received from a desperate, sneaky teenager. While he could objectively admire her tactics, that hadn’t been enjoyable.

   “Thank you,” Draco nodded before wrapping his arm around Harry, who was clearly annoyed and feeling left out.

   They’d talk in bed that night.

   Ushering their remaining family out of the door, they would do just that.


	7. Qualifications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Research on this fic is hilarious. I never knew that 220 million pregnancies occur each year! Madness. Anyway, thanks for reading, you lovely darlings. I appreciate all the favorites and reviews.

**Chapter 7: Qualifications**

   Draco almost spit out the piece of syrup-coated pancake in his mouth. “You’re actually considering the offer?”

   “I know, I can’t believe it either,” Harry muttered before finishing his second cup of coffee. Draco had kept him up all night with details and rants about the nerve of that girl. It would be one hell of a long day, too. “But she sort of had a point.”

   “You’re mental.”

   “She sounds desperate and scared. Sure, she went about things the wrong way, but she did get you to listen,” he pointed out.

   Shaking his head, Draco put down his own sugar-filled coffee. “Whatever.”

   “Draco, come on. It took you long enough to actually tell me everything.” Harry was still not at all happy with the insanity that had happened the day before. He hated having to sit around like some idiot, waiting for his husband to fill him in.

   Draco gave him a look. “Excuse me if I didn’t gush about the murders I witnessed,” he sighed. Draco was too tired to fight with Harry right now.

   “Right,” Harry murmured when he saw the evident exhaustion in Draco’s eyes. “But it’s not a half-bad plan, you have to admit that.” He got up from the other side of the kitchen island and walked to Draco before draping his arms around his shoulders.

   Without thinking, Draco leaned into his touch. “I know. I just wish we could skip it, you know? Get to the bit where we’ve got a roly-poly.” Waking up to a happy, gurgling little baby that was all their own wasn’t such an awful thought to Draco anymore.

   “Mm,” Harry murmured into his neck. “Then I think I have another plan that you’ll like.” Pulling back, Harry decided a shoulder-rub was in order.

   A grateful sigh escaped Draco. Sometimes, Harry knew just what he needed. “And what’s that?”

   “Things have been tense lately, much like your shoulders. I want to take you out. I want to wine and dine you and then,” even though it was inadvisable and would have Harry losing his mind, he wanted Draco to be happy more than anything. “Then we can go shopping for nursery furniture. You pick it all, and I’ll carry it.”

   “Harry,” Draco said as he spun around in his chair, gripping his cheek. “I love you so much.”

   “And I love you.” Harry bent down to give Draco’s nose a kiss, but Draco tilted his head up to catch it on his lips. “Tomorrow is all about me and you, okay?”

   “Sounds perfect. However, I may need something to tide me over until then,” Draco murmured, standing up so his chest was pressed to Harry’s. His hand rested over Harry’s beating heart and rubbed in small, soothing circles.

   Harry grinned and gave him another kiss. “Horndog. You’ll make us both late.”

   “Oh, come now. You know I could get you off in a minute if I really wanted to.”

   “What?” Harry asked, raising a brow. “Is that a bet?”

   Draco’s interest was piqued. “Depends. What does the winner get?”

   “Something different from the usual—“ a night to act out one of their darkest fantasies, of course, “—the loser has to collect the applicants’ papers from the Ministry.”

   His eyes narrowed. “And they say I’m the Slytherin,” Draco laughed. “You realize that they’ll swarm whoever goes there, right?”

   “Then you better hurry up,” Harry suggested before reaching back to put a minute into the microwave. “Ready?”

   Draco didn’t even reply. He dropped to his knees and yanked down Harry’s black trousers and pants to get to him. Shocked, all Harry had to do was press the ‘enter’ button before the microwave roared to life.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Waking up to a bird staring at you would be unnerving for most people. Those people, unfortunately, were not Narcissa Malfoy.

   Every husband had his vices.

   Some hit, some drank, some yelled, and some cheated. Lucius had his peacocks, and Narcissa counted herself lucky for it every day. “Lucius,” she murmured, shifting in their bed. “Wake up, dear. Another one’s gotten inside.”

   Lucius let out a groan. “I was sleeping.”

   “As was I, darling.”

   He sat up; the mane of golden hair that usually was gelled and combed to perfection was frizzed out and tangled. It almost made Narcissa laugh. “It’s just one,” he sighed before sinking back into the emerald comforters and pillows.

   “What if it…” Narcissa tried to think of how to word it. “He empties his bowels?”

   “That’s what the house elf is for,” Lucius murmured and laughed bitterly to himself.

   While the idea of elven slavery didn’t quite sit right with Narcissa, it had been there her whole life. Elves had cooked for her since she was born, and she’d only started making popcorn and toast at Remus and Sirius’ instructions.

   She reached for the bell at the bedside table and rang it.

   A shuffle of tiny feet rushed up a faraway staircase, so Narcissa sunk back into the bed with her husband. “Do you have plans for the day?”

   “I’ll give Draco a few days to amass adoption papers,” Lucius grumbled unhappily. He’d be sure to look over them with a fine-tooth comb. They would be the spitting image of the Malfoy family: that he was sure of. If Potter wanted someone else’s kids, then he wasn’t getting any look-alikes out of the deal. “I suppose I’ll just balance the checkbook.”

   She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder, waiting for their breakfast.

   Finally, a barely-clothed elf stumbled into their room. “Gerda is very sorry, the peacocks… The peacocks do not like Gerda. Not one bit.”

   That made Lucius laugh sickly, too. It made Narcissa wince.

   He turned to her. “What do you want for breakfast, dear?”

   “French toast,” she replied with an easy smile. Narcissa didn’t like chastising her husband in front of the help, but something felt wrong that morning.

   Maybe she’d been having too much tea time with Remus and Sirius, but Narcissa felt sort of… sorry for the little thing as she hurried away. Even though she was hideous in every aspect, the Malfoy matriarch could still find some pity for her.

   This time Lucius sat up, he was on the move. If Narcissa had to say something, now would be the time.

   “Sweetheart,” she tried carefully.

   Lucius sighed. He knew what this was about; or so he thought. “I know that we’re supporting Draco’s actions, but I believe I’m entitled to privately disapproving.”

   “That wasn’t what I—“

   “Maybe if they have a second child they’ll want it to be theirs.”

   “Lucius,” Narcissa sighed. “First of all, we are not picking favorite grandchildren like we did pick a favorite child.”

   “That’s because we have only one child,” Lucius reminded her without knowing how deep her infertility insecurities went.

   Draco had been a veritable miracle. She’d been told by Healer after Healer that she wouldn’t bear any children ever since she was thirteen and was first inspected with her mother at her side, making sure the family line would continue. After hours of poking and prodding with gloves and cold metal rods, they gave her the bad news.

   That was why when the most popular boy in school—Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy—who had been in the year above her went on a cordial date with her and had taken her back to the Manor unbeknownst to their parents and told her in the exact words of ‘condoms aren’t big enough for me, doll’, she let him go without.

   The pregnancy had brought them together and it was the pregnancy that Healers told her she would never have.

   Lucius went white as a sheet when she told him the happy news two months into their courting. After all, premarital sex was not at all on the list of what Abraxas had planned for his son.

   To keep both of their honor intact, Lucius bought the engagement ring later that day. The Black and Malfoy families were to be united (definitely not for the first time, but Narcissa didn’t really like to think of her one and only as a distant cousin), and both were over the moon in spite of the nervous and jittery couple.

   After Draco turned two, Lucius had told her to get on fertility potions. He wanted more heirs, but most of all, Abraxas wanted more heirs. Maybe the old man could sense what a gigantic fag his grandson would turn out to be, but he was never fond of Narcissa’s miracle baby.

   Draco was an adorable baby, too.

   Banishing all thoughts of Abraxas and the way he had looked down at Narcissa as the years past and no more children came, she pushed on past the memories.

   “Yes, that’s true. Secondly, that wasn’t even what I wanted to speak with you about.”

   “Then what is it?” Lucius donned his fluffy bathrobe and tied it tightly around his waist. Bugger the heat, he looked amazing in the damn thing.

   Narcissa tucked her nightgown in around her. “It’s Gerda.”

   “I could punish her for her lateness, yes.” It had taken her awhile to get up three flights of stairs.

   “No! That’s not it. Did she seem sort of sad to you this morning?” she asked.

   Lucius gave her a look. “House elves don’t have feelings. Everyone knows that except for the crazy liberals who convince the creatures who were bred to work that they should be ‘free’.”

   “I find some of those studies incredibly intriguing. I doubt that many wizards would make up observations on house elves’ feelings.”

   “Did you get enough sleep?” Lucius teased her lightly. This was nonsense that would hopefully be drowned by a cup of coffee.

   “I slept fine,” Narcissa informed him.

   “Then what’s brought this on? Don’t tell me the Lupins have been braiding your hair and making you friendship bracelets.”

   “No,” she argued, though Sirius had definitely played with her hair before in a gay cousin sort of way. “I can have thoughts on my own, and this is one of them. Gerda is a living being, and if I’m suddenly mad for being upset about her servitude then that’s just too bad for you.”

   “That’s the point, though,” Lucius mumbled before putting his comfy slippers on. “It’s ‘sudden’. I’ve barely been awake for fifteen minutes, Narcissa.”

   She let out a huff of frustration. “Then when will you discuss this? Do you need a few hours?”

   “What’s there to discuss? You know neither of us can cook nor clean, and managing all five floors of the Manor takes hired help.”

   “Gerda isn’t hired,” she reminded him. “We purchased her like a house pet.”

   That made Lucius laugh again. What had gotten into his wife’s head that morning? “That’s because she is. Her and the peacocks.”

   “ _Lucius_.”

   “What?” he asked, amused. “Would you like to mop the basement? You’re welcome to, you know, but you don’t strike me as the mopping sort, dear.”

   Oh, she could strike him right at that moment. “That’s what new cleaning spells are for. I could buy a book of them, I’m sure.” As a last resort, she could even ask Molly Weasley how all of that nonsense worked. That, and Harry and Draco could teach her a thing or two. They shared housework like a proper couple.

   Lucius turned away from her and rolled his eyes. When drawn into an argument, Narcissa could be vicious. “Let’s not talk about this now.” He wanted to go back to the part where she had snuggled closer to him in their bed. It was nice knowing his wife still cared for him after all the years and Death Eater scandals.

   Before Narcissa could argue, Gerda returned with a delicious and syrup-soaked pile of French toast that made Narcissa’s stomach growl loudly. It was shameful how her stomach could betray her beliefs like that.

   With a smug smile, Lucius snatched up the tray and dismissed the knobby-kneed creature. Once Narcissa ate, then she would feel back to normal.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   After three more fruitless hours of problem-solving with Ron, Harry was beginning to doubt they could ever decipher the clue. No wonder the case had gone cold.

   This time around, Ron went even further with suggestions of turning to Remus for help. Harry would hear none of it.

   “Let’s just break for lunch,” he mumbled into his hands. “I have some paperwork I need to take care of, anyway.” Harry damned himself once again for making that stupid bet that morning.

_“Draco! Fuck, Draco—“_

    Harry should have known not to bet against Draco’s tongue, after all. He was at its mercy every day of his life.

   Sex this far into a marriage was rumored to have died out. Harry was overjoyed when he found that that wasn’t the case. Harry had been even more hopelessly in lust with Draco after their honeymoon that had quickly gone from a week long to a whole month, and Draco was still in lust with him.

   Draco’s body was a familiar plane, one that Harry never got tired of traveling. He’d cover it in kisses and bites, always keeping his hands on Draco. Alabaster skin, icy-blonde hair, and chiseled muscles. It was something straight out of Harry’s wet dreams.

   One kiss could have Harry hanging by a thread. They’d mastered each other’s bodies over and over again with no sign of boredom, and knew just what to do. Where to touch, how hard, how fast, how much the other could take…

   It still made Harry’s stomach flutter. If he closed his eyes, he could feel Draco standing right there next to him. Harry could smell him clinging to his Auror robes, knowing full well how Draco liked to parade around in them without any pants on.

   “See you later,” Ron called after him as Harry headed for the Ministry elevator. Thankfully, the one he got was empty. It took him all the way down to the floor that held the child services section.

   A burst of giggles signaled the opening of the elevator doors.

   A woman with a braid led a gaggle of children around her, trying to corral them into control. Harry didn’t quite know who they were or what they were doing there, but they certainly caught sight of him.

   “Harry Malfoy-Potter,” a little girl whispered, pointing a chubby finger at him.

   The kids around her gasped, and Harry gave them an eager wave. That set them free of the Celebrity Barrier that Harry seemed to have, and the braided woman had to chase after them.

   “Sorry,” she apologized quickly as she picked up a boy who had latched on to Harry’s leg.

   “It’s fine,” Harry assured her before dropping to one knee. The kids were so amazed that they grabbed at his glasses, trying to get any piece of the star that they could. It made Harry laugh, and he put his hands out as if he were blind. “Where are my glasses?”

   The children laughed and the boy who had a grip on them hid them behind his back.

   “I can’t see without my glasses,” Harry lied before bumping his hand into the boy who had them captive.

   “Hey!” the boy laughed, switching his glasses from one hand to the other.

   Harry patted another girl’s head. “Do you have my glasses?” he asked.

   “He does, he does!” she laughed, the kids around her laughing and pointing to the boy.

   “Where?” Harry asked, overshooting his reach and latching onto another boy while their attendant laughed and hid her smile with her hand.

   “They’re here,” the original boy finally said before his little fingers gripped the lenses and messily pushed them onto Harry’s face.

   Tiny fingerprints had smudged the glasses, but Harry didn’t mind. “Why, thank you. You kids have a good day, hm?”

   “Yeah!” they all yelled before returning to the grateful-looking woman who led the pitter-patter of feet away to a door on the opposite side of the lobby.

   Smiling, Harry proceeded to the main desk. Ever since Kinglsey’s reforms on childcare put orphans and adoptions under the care of the Ministry—a reform Harry wished had been around when he was a baby—after a scandal with the leading adoption agency’s children being kidnapped from muggle mothers in Russia, things had been running smoothly.

   Now, wizarding children would never fall victim to a broken, muggle, and country-based system.

   “Hello,” he greeted the shocked man at the counter. “I have a pickup for—“ Harry pulled the legal paper that Draco had put in his pocket after he’d sucked him senseless. “—Case three hundred ninety-four.”

   The receptionist hurriedly began shifting through papers, knocking a nearby soft drink over in the process. The poor thing was jittery in the face of fame. “Sure thing, yes,” he hurried before yanking up a small file. “The applicants were sent through Doctor Hart. Her office is just down the hallway and to the right, where she’s weeded out the applicants. There was a bit of an, er, information spill.”

   Harry looked nervously over his shoulder. “How many minutes do I have?”

   “Not many.”

   Rolling his eyes, Harry didn’t even bother guessing who let the news slip. Either Skeeter or some other prying journalist had broken in, one of the downsides to a centralized adoption agency where the Malfoy-Potter papers were kept between the Smiths and the Joneses.

   Harry made his way down the hall, hoping to go unnoticed. His mission was successful, but he knew the swarm was coming soon. If files had been leaked, then there was no doubt an appointment time was close behind.

   “Mr. Malfoy-Potter,” the doctor greeted, outstretching her hand.

   “Nice to meet you,” Harry said before shaking her hand briefly. “Look, I hate to be rude, but there’ll be a crowd in your lobby soon and the last thing I want is to cause you trouble. So, if we could just grab the papers of the women you’d approved so my husband and I could look over them, that’d be great.”

   Dr. Hart smiled thinly. “Please, sit down.”

   With a reluctant sigh, Harry took a seat. “Is there something wrong?”

   “Not wrong, Mr. Malfoy-Potter.” She nudged her glasses up her nose; covering up what Draco would call ‘an unfortunate unibrow situation’. “I just think I have an obligation to tell you just how many applicants we have on this case specifically. I know there has been a leak in security, and I apologize. This department is still in a trial period, and it can’t be helped. But, because of your notoriety…”

   “How many?” Harry sighed, crossing his arms.

   “Six thousand,” Dr. Hart told him in a matter-of-fact voice that reminded him of Hermione in first year.

   Harry gaped. “Uh, what?”

   “After ruling out women with STDs, STIs, drugs in their system, and history of violent crimes, four thousand remain.”

   That was absolutely ridiculous. She had to be kidding.

   “I can’t send you home with four thousand files,” the doctor went on. “So, I need some more parameters to narrow down the search by.”

   “Like what?” Harry asked. The original ones seemed like pretty good parameters.

   “Oh, blood status, hair color, eye color, IQ, social class, weight, height, religion, and race.”

   Harry’s eyes widened. “Uh, no. No, I need to discuss this with my husband.”

   “Are there any qualifiers?” the woman asked. “Any at all until we can schedule a joint meeting?”

   “I guess, um.” Harry put his hand behind his head. “It just feels wrong to talk about. I just want a healthy kid.”

   “So, no history of mental illness in the woman’s family along with heart disease, cancer, or diabetes? Wonderful.” With a wave of her cherry wood wand, a group of files were whisked back into her silver cabinets. “Now you’ve got two thousand. Do you want a smart child?”

   Harry frowned. He really didn’t feel like bringing up the nature versus nurture argument with a woman he barely knew. “Just because the mother has a high IQ doesn’t mean the child will.”

   “It’s not just the mother. We look at the father’s profiles, as well. Some of these women have sperm donors from the national bank, and the men who donate are the cream of the crop.” Ew. “High IQs, tall, thin, and pureblood.”

   “I’m not looking for something like that,” Harry mumbled angrily. This was ridiculous.

   “You prefer the traditional method of conception, then. That’s… Unexpected. Anyway, we’ll take the sperm donors off of the list.” Another stack of files flew off. “One thousand six hundred.”

   That number was terrifying. It was all the possible lives that Draco and Harry could raise, all the children that needed homes. “Wait. I thought all of these kids were, y’know, unplanned. Why were there even sperm donors?”

   “As you know, it is a… Lucrative position to be in. Donated eggs are sold for two thousand galleons, and for the actual fertilization and undergoing of childbirth, the price climbs. It’s a way that many women can make extra money, just as sperm can be donated for twenty sickles, once a month.”

   “I don’t want anyone who does this for a living,” Harry frowned.

   “Then I’ll get rid of the women that have given the department or satellite agencies more than one child,” she said with another swish and flick of her wand. “One thousand three hundred. Have you and your husband even discussed what sort of child you want to have?”

   “Yes,” he answered defensively. “We have.”

   “And the Malfoy family has no preference as to looks?”

   The woman’s intrusions were getting under Harry’s skin. This may have been her job, but it made Harry feel slightly violated. Sure, he shared all of his secrets with a therapist on a weekly basis, but she was much more polite about the whole thing. “They do, but I’m not sure if I agree. Ruling out a child based on race and blood purity is archaic.”

   “Mr. Malfoy-Potter, you will be deciding on one child right now?” she sighed, pushing her glasses back up to her unibrow. Harry could feel a hint of Draco’s judgment pouring into him. The line where Draco ended and Harry began had always been clear, but their humors had blended together indistinguishably.

   “Yes.”

   “Then in the end, you will have one child. One child that is not from someone who does this for a living, but a woman who cannot care for her child. A woman who wants her child to have a better life.”

   Harry glowered. “Yes.”

   “Then in the end, five thousand nine hundred ninety-nine children aren’t yours, whichever way you slice it,” Dr. Hart murmured. “I’ve seen couples disagree on matter like this quite a bit. I’m no purist, but fighting for equal opportunity doesn’t have much of a place in a business like this.”

   “I don’t need to listen to this,” he grumbled before standing to leave. People like Dr. Hart made Harry crazy with their ‘you’re too sensitive’ argument and doubtful glances. They made him feel like he was the irrational one, even though it was the other way around. “I need to talk things over with Draco.”

   The doctor’s irritation was audible. “I have a muggle phone you can use.”

   There was really only a one-third chance that Draco would know how to properly operate the muggle phone in their home, but Harry had a feeling that it’d be getter to get this over with so that they could hand-pick the woman on their own.

   “Fine.” Harry grabbed the phone off of her desk, receiver and all. He dialed their new home phone number, holding his breath for Draco to pick it up the right way. Harry had gone through too many conversations with Draco talking into the speaker and listening to the mouthpiece.

   “Who the hell is this?”

   “Draco,” he breathed.

   “Harry, darling! Can you believe this thing? It’s got a different ring from the other phone. I don’t like it,” Draco said, resting his hip on the wall. “Have you gotten the papers?”

   “That’s the thing,” Harry muttered. He wanted some privacy, and his doctor was clearly unaware of such a need.

   Draco arched an eyebrow that Harry couldn’t see, but sort of felt. “What’s wrong?”

   “Um, we have one thousand three hundred applicants.”

   “That’s to be expected,” he shrugged. “Tell them to narrow down the search by our qualifications.”

   “’Our’ qualifications?” Harry asked with a hint of a huff.

   From the other end of the line, Draco felt a little like ramming his head into a wall. “Please, Harry. Let’s not be difficult about this. We just have to satisfy my father for now, and then… Then, you pick all the qualifications or lack thereof for the next one.”

   “Next one?” Harry’s jaw dropped. He’d known Draco had wanted more than one in theory, but this was an actual agreement. Plus, nothing would get back at Lucius like forcing him to love a grandchild that was a muggleborn. It was almost a sick sort of pleasure that Harry got out of it. “Promise me.”

   “I promise.”

   “Swear on your life?”

   “I’ll swear on yours. Now, please, bring back some baby mamas.”

   “Will do,” Harry laughed before hanging up. _The next one_ , he repeated in his mind as ‘white’, ‘blonde or brunette’, ‘grey or green eyes’, ‘tall’, ‘thin’, ‘high IQ’ , and ‘no muggleborns’ left his mouth. _The next one, the next one, the next one_.

   This was the only time Harry would compromise his beliefs with their children. He promised himself that.

   Harry had compromised a lot when he joined the Malfoy family, but this was the last time. The rest of this process would be just him and Draco. Harry could care less if Lucius was pounding down their door. The fifty files in his hand held their future together and Draco and Harry would make it like they always did. Together.


	8. Wild Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Welcome to Harry Potter, The Boy Who Snapped. I feel like a part of him has grown up, but another part of him is just as foaming-at-the-mouth revolutionary as ever. TW for homophobia and slurs.

**Chapter 8: Wild Child**

 “You did _what_?”

   “Hermione,” Harry sighed. “You have no idea what it’s like to have the pressure of keeping the Malfoy legacy. I could give a shit about it, but Draco cares. By making Lucius happy, I make Draco’s life infinitely easier.”

   She narrowed her eyes and pierced a piece of chicken tikka masala with her fork. At this point, Hermione knew her glare was enough to make Harry feel guilty about how fast he’d given in.

   “I know it was wrong! Hermione, we fought in a war against a madman who wanted the world to be pureblood. You know me and you know that I hate that.”

   Once again, Hermione stewed in her anger. Never in her life had she thought that she’d have to argue blood politics with Harry. It was absolutely absurd.

   “ _Hermione_. He said the next one could be anything I wanted, but this just has to get Lucius on our side!” Harry argued.

   “So your children are pawns for daddy’s approval?” Hermione spoke finally, voice biting and cold as she could manage it. It was a good thing Ron was out grocery shopping, or he would be the one screaming with fire and rage.

   “No, they’re not! They’re the kids we want, and so sue me if I want Draco to be happy! You don’t know what he goes through with his dad because, well, your in-laws are Weasleys. They love Rosie and they’ll love the new baby no matter what happens.”

   “The added pressure of the adoption is rough,” Hermione admitted bitterly. “But that doesn’t excuse what you did.”

   Harry felt like collapsing face-first into the Indian food she had ordered for them. This supposed to be a relaxing get-together for Harry to vent his frustrations, not be attacked for them. “Lucius despised me up until a month into Draco and my engagement. I feel about what I did, Hermione. I’m probably going to feel about this for a long time.”

   “As you should. I never thought that the Malfoys could change you.”

   “They haven’t changed me!” Harry argued. After all, Hermione and Ron had hardly been enthusiastic about the relationship that launched a thousand reporters. “I still believe in equality, for fuck’s sake! I’m not choosing the face of a new generation, I’m picking a baby to raise!” What the doctor had said about the five thousand nine-hundred ninety-nine other babies was sort of true.

   Hermione ate her food in a rather aggressive manner when she was angry. She plunged the naan into the masala sauce with a roaring strength and ripped a piece off of it with her mouth. “And what makes a pureblood baby worth more than one that isn’t?”

   “I didn’t ask for pureblood,” Harry pointed out. “I just specified that the child had to have some wizarding blood. Anything at all that could convince Lucius.”

   “So you may adopt a half-blood?” Hermione asked skeptically.

   “Hermione, _I’m_ a half-blood.”

   She didn’t seem satisfied with that. “That’s not the point.”

   “What is, then?” he questioned a little desperately. All Harry wanted was for this to be over with. Planning for children was far more stressful than planning for a wedding. This was a future, functioning member of society that they were responsible for.

   “The point is that you’re letting Lucius run your lives,” she huffed. “And he’s a bigot.”

   “Yes, he is.”

   Finally, something they could agree on. “Then why are you letting him do this?” Hermione demanded. The man still kept a house elf, for fuck’s sake.

   “Because that’s the last say he’ll have in this again,” Harry told her. Draco and he had argued about it for hours after the files were laid out in front of them. “Lucius won’t see any of the fifty candidates. Ever. The woman we choose could be one sixteenth wizard, for all I care. We gave Lucius his nod of respect, and now he’ll have to deal with the lack of further involvement.”

   “And you won’t let him pressure you again? Sure, I believe that.”

   Harry had given her no real reason to believe that, and he knew it. “You’ll see. I promise.”

   With a roll of her eyes, Hermione fell back into silence. She’d been discriminated against her whole life, and now Harry was letting her oppressors influence him.

   “Hermione,” he tried again. “You’re not seeing how hard this is for me.”

   She honestly didn’t care, either. There was a line between right and wrong that Harry had crossed, and he’d betrayed his own morals as much as he had betrayed hers.

   Finally, Harry stood and opened himself up for Hermione to see. “I can’t get pregnant, and neither can Draco. You’re coming from a standpoint of someone who can have kids, and I’m sorry, but you really are seeing my side at all. I’m going to have to cart around the adoption papers with me my whole life to prove that I’m the child’s parent, I’ll have to tell them why they can’t do projects on their biological family tree in school, and I’ll have to tell them why they have two dads instead of a mom and a dad. Kids will make fun of them, Hermione. I’m not fooling myself with this!”

   Her lips twitched downward. That was true, but Hermione didn’t see how it was relevant.

   “While Lucius is wrong about the issue of blood purity, he has a point that the children should look like us. Even muggle gay couples do that. It doesn’t mean a baby of a different race or a different eye color is less deserving, but we get so much shit from people already.”

   “I know that, Harry.”

   “So, excuse me if I can’t take this anymore!” Harry’s voice climbed. “I’ve had reporters on my back since I was a kid. They follow me around, they place cameras in my office, and they _break into my house_! But they’re not the worst. They’re not even the start of the worst. Ordinary people—even muggles—see Draco and I and I can feel their glares. I know they hate me without even knowing me.

   “I get every name in the fucking book, too. I know you’ve had to deal with that about being a muggleborn, so please, try to understand,” he begged. “I’m a faggot and they want me dead. Even wizards who know that I killed Tom Riddle tell me I’m ‘setting a bad example’, or whatever! They fight against my marriage, my very right to adopt, and more!”

   “I know!” Hermione stopped him. She got the picture; it was tough to be gay. “But what does that have to do with you giving in to Lucius?”

   Harry sat back down, a little unsure of why he’d stood in the first place. “It has to do with the fact that Draco and I are put through enough in our daily lives. He gets harassed at the hospital, and I get called a ‘fairy’ by people I am _arresting_. I can’t put Draco through the ringer on this issue, too. Sometimes, when you see those signs that the church people hold, even though you know everything they’re saying is wrong and narrow-minded, it gets to you. They become a blob.

   “A blob of people in the world who are indistinguishable from other tolerant human beings. I have to call hotels ahead of time and say ‘yes, we’re two men and yes, we’ll have one bed’, and worry about whether or not they’ll let us go at all. People stare when we walk arm-in-arm. Waiters in restaurants have seen us holding hands and asked us to leave. When Draco came out to his father, they didn’t even speak for months. I feel guilty, okay? I feel guilty that I’m the one causing him problems,” he finished. Harry loved Draco too much to forgive himself for the trouble Draco had gone through.

   That was a lot to take in. “You aren’t the cause of bigots,” Hermione told him slowly. “If Draco wasn’t with you, he’d still be gay, and his father would still be on his back.”

   “Then why can’t I just make things easier?” he pleaded. “I’ll raise that baby to respect people of any gender, race, blood status, or sexual orientation. I’m picking my battles, Hermione. I can’t be responsible for one more struggle Draco has to go through.”

   “Harry, that sounds a lot like giving up,” she said gently. “And you need to stop blaming yourself for the bad in the world.”

   Sure he could. That’s what Harry had done for years. Finally, Harry shared the last scrap of his worries. “I don’t want to be responsible for Lucius not liking his grandchild. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m already worried about the second child. What if Lucius prefers the one that looks like Draco and I?”

   “Then that’s his problem.”

   “And my kids’ problem. I grew up without grandparents, and it wasn’t that fun,” he shrugged. “Can you imagine what would happen if they did like the kid, though? Grandma and Grandpa bringing them expensive toys, showering them in praise, and more. Lucius would finally get off of Draco’s back about heirs, and the whole family would get along better.”

   Hermione took Harry’s hand. “I know you love him. I’m just worried, okay? It feels like you’re compromising your values and it worries me.”

   “I still have the same values,” Harry sighed as he squeezed her hand. “I’m not an entirely different person.”

   “That’s true,” she nodded.

   “Plus, if I screw things up horribly, then at least they’ll have a couple of great godparents to take care of them.” Harry and Draco had argued about that, too. But who the hell else would Draco want? Pansy Parkinson? It may or may not have been another clause in Harry agreeing to go with the fifty look-a-like candidates.

   Hermione immediately perked up. It hardly made up for Harry’s actions, but she heard what he was saying. That, and he still sounded like the Harry she knew and loved. Sure, he wasn’t as unyielding in the social crusade for equality that would hopefully one day change Lucius’ mind, but he was still there beside her in the fight.

   It was a compromise for love, and it was sort of noble in its own right. Sort of.

   “Ron and I would be honored,” she told him as the smile returned to her face. “They can come over any time.”

   It was then that Harry realized something sort of wonderful. Hermione, Ron, and Harry would be raising children together. Their kids would go to Hogwarts together, and maybe even room together. They’d spend holidays together, and Halloweens, and birthdays, and everything. “I can’t wait.”

   Hermione’s eyes went wide, and her hand flew down to her swollen stomach. “Apparently, neither can he.”

   “He’s kicking?” Harry asked excitedly, putting a hand over Hermione’s billowy blouse. Under the surface he could feel the baby stir. “Have you two decided on a name yet?”

   “Hugo,” Hermione told him proudly. “Hugo Arthur Weasley.”

   “Brilliant. That’s brilliant,” he breathed.

   Hermione smiled a little more tensely. “And only two months until the beauty of childbirth,” she reminded him. The last time hadn’t given her any reason to be overjoyed. “And then, never again.”

   Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really? This is your last one?”

  “For sure. If Ron wants to push any out, he is welcome to try,” she laughed. “Plus, my family has a detestable history of cysts.”

   “Who knows?” Harry shrugged. “Maybe you’ll be in the same adoption boat as me one day. With less judgment and more understanding in-laws, of course.”

   “It does sound tough.”

   “It is.”

   Hermione squeezed his hand again before returning to her food. After all, there were no cravings like pregnancy cravings. “Maybe,” she said after swallowing down her food, making that sly grin that Ron made whenever he was joking. “A one sixteenth pureblood grandchild that still managed to resemble the Malfoy Order could even change Lucius’ old ways, and force him to love it.”

   “We can dream, Hermione. We can dream.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Olivia was owling in her third job application of the day when she heard the knock at the door. Was she supposed to answer that? She didn’t quite know the etiquette of how to function in Remus and Sirius’ home yet.

   They told her ‘do whatever you want’, and most likely meant it, but she was still wary. Olivia cleaned up after her every move, just in case. She’d even pretended to like Sirius’ goopy casserole that his own husband had turned down.

   “I’ll get it!” Remus called from the other room.

   When he strolled by Olivia he shot her a smile, and she gave him one in return. He was too good to her.

   The door opened to reveal a stout woman in pink. Only when Olivia squinted her eyes could she see that it was Molly Weasley. “Molly!” Remus greeted her warmly, bringing her in for a hug. “Sirius is out shopping.” He’d ranted about starting a ‘victory garden’ for about an hour before running off to buy seeds, more specifically flower seeds, which was not a part of a traditional ‘victory garden’ in the slightest. Leave it to Sirius Lupin to break tradition.

   “I just dropped by to return the bowl we used for last night’s jelly,” Molly told him with a little wave of her hand, strolling over to the kitchen where Olivia was seated. “Oh, hello, sweetheart. How are you warming up to Grimmauld Place?”

   “Really well, thanks,” Olivia returned, rolling down the sleeves on the new shirt her ‘fathers’ (what _were_ they?) had bought her without knowing her reasoning behind it was to cover up her scars. Remus was great about that, too.

   Molly smiled brightly. “That’s wonderful, dear.” Slowly, something came over her face. It wasn’t quite doubt, or disgust, or anything that Olivia could recognize, but it was something. “Remus.”

   “Yes?” he asked absentmindedly as he toyed with the charmed magnets on the refrigerator that changed words every so often to form new sentences. This time, it had changed to ‘silly yodeling in your hills’. If Sirius were there, he would have made some sort of innuendo.

   “I need to ask you something,” she said, hinting at the need for an adults-only talk.

   “Ask away,” Remus shrugged, too distracted with ‘in France, I ate a kazoo’ on his refrigerator.

   Molly shifted uncomfortably, trying her best not to look at Olivia. “I need to ask you something about your—ah—your shampoo.”

   Remus turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “What? My…? I can’t even remember what brand I use.”

   Yes! That was the perfect response. “Then let’s go see! I think Bill needs to switch, is all, because of some white things I saw in his hair. What’s the word for that again? Dandruff! That’s what it was. So, shall we look?”

   Without waiting for Remus to respond, she ran up the stairs and out of Olivia’s sight before crooking her finger for Remus to follow.

   Confused, he did just that.

  “Molly,” he started once they reached the closest bathroom. “What’s going on?”

   She closed the door to lock them both inside.

   “Molly, I’m flattered, but we’re both married and I’m gay—“

   “Oh, hush,” Molly snapped before putting a silencing charm on the room. “I’m not here to seduce you, Romulus.” That nickname really did get old, sometimes. “I need to talk to you about something.”

   “About what?” Remus asked as he felt even more in the dark than he originally had.

   “About Olivia.”

   “What about her?”

   Molly wrung her hands in front of her, trying to think of a way to phrase this. “Well, young women undergo lots of changes at her age. Hormones rage, hair begins to grow…”

   The fact that Molly had probably given all of her children this exact talk in this exact voice disturbed Remus more than he could properly articulate. “I know how puberty works, Molly. I’m still trying to forget it, and it sticks with me.”

   “But there are things that women go through in puberty that the all-boys-club of the Marauders probably didn’t go through. Well, James probably watched it carefully, but—“

   “ _What are you talking about_?”

   “She needs a bra, Remus,” Molly finally pushed out of her. It was good to get that off of her chest. Metaphorically. “At age twelve, women start developing breast buds.”

   Remus put his head in his hands. “I…” He didn’t want to think about Olivia changing from a human to a werewolf, let alone from a girl to a woman. “I know that.” Also, he hadn’t wanted to think about his adoptive child’s breasts.

   “So you need to get her a training bra. I just thought I’d tell you, since you’d never gone through it yourself.”

   “Oh. Well. Isn’t that a joy.”

   “Remus!” she laughed, swatting his arms. “I would think an educated man like yourself wouldn’t be concerned by women’s issues.”

   “I’m not!” Remus defended. He’d been there for Lily when she went skinny-dipping and the Slytherins stole her bathing suit, and he’d even been outside the room where she gave birth to Harry. At the thought of that, he shuddered a little. He’d been a feminist since the beginning! He’d watched young women mature school year after school year, and chastised every boy in class who made a disrespectful comment, sandwich joke, or remark about periods! “I know that women go through changes in their pre-teens and that eventually I’ll have to respect her as a woman, but…”

   “But you didn’t think it would happen so soon? Oh, Remus. Womanhood is never on a schedule.”

   He frowned. “I’m aware.” Sirius would probably laugh himself to death when he heard this, the crazy berk. “And I’ll buy her some, thank you for pointing that out. The simple fact of the matter is that I have no idea what to do now or where to purchase them.”

   “You’ve never been to a department store?” she asked him skeptically.

   “Well, not to the women’s section!”

   Molly laughed her high-pitched little giggle. “They have women in the bra department that can measure and fit her. All you have to do is take her there and buy them.”

   “Fine,” he sighed. From outside of the bathroom, he heard Sirius trod in what had to be a million shaking seed bags.

   “Liv-a-licious! Get Remus, we’re going to make the best goddamn victory garden that anyone has ever seen. It’ll probably be the gayest, too.”

   “Sure,” Olivia laughed, getting up to search for wherever Molly had dragged Remus off to.

   He beat her down the stairs, giving her another warm and comforting smile. Maybe if he tried enough of those, then Olivia would give up the notion of working for her keep like a tenant.

   “Molly!” Sirius greeted her happily when he saw her come down the stairs behind Remus. “We are going to sow the earth like in ancient times. Care to join us?”

   “I’ve got to be going,” she told him politely before giving his a kiss on the cheek and waving goodbye to her niece-ish-sort-thing. “Goodbye!”

   And just like that, Molly Weasley was gone as soon as she had arrived. Remus would spend the rest of his night covered in topsoil and fertilizer, which felt like the wrong place to bring up a family talk about undergarments. _Tomorrow_ , he decided before watering their beautiful, ridiculous final product of flowers, tomato plants, potato plants, and zucchini. True to Sirius’ style, none of them were in season.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Draco laughed and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ve picked a theme for the nursery.”

   “There had to be a theme?”

   “Hush,” he silenced him by pressing a finger to Harry’s lips. The other hand, of course, was busy spooning ice cream out of a tub. “You have to listen to my vision because it came to me on my way home from work.”

   Harry smiled and kissed his sugary lips before getting himself a spoonful of the ice cream. “I’m all ears.”

   “I was walking home and I saw a poster hanging up for the London Zoo’s new tiger habitat or whatever. That’s what really got me thinking, and then everything fell into place.” He paused to put another spoonful of vanilla delight into his mouth. “The crib will be a light wood, with green leaf detailing along the sides, and a mobile of different animals.”

   “That’s cute. It’ll be our wild child room,” Harry laughed.

   “The walls will be a mural of the jungle that we can hire Dean to paint,” Draco envisioned. “There will be a blue sky ceiling with clouds and birds, too. Then we can magick the paintings so they move like they’re in a real jungle. It not only gets us out of worn gender roles for the baby, but I quite like the idea of teaching the kid to talk with books about animals. Not real animals, ever, just books.”

   “Aw,” he said before giving Draco a little shove. “But what if the kid wants a pet?”

   “Then they can play with Padfoot.” Sirius knew better than to throw up on the soft emerald carpet that would be installed in the nursery. “And they’ll have lots of pictures, and the muggle television to stare at animals.”

   Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “You just wait. I’ll convince them to enroll in Care of Magical Creatures and this whole place will be crawling with newts, cats, and pygmy puffs.”

   “Never. If anything, the kid gets a dragon,” Draco huffed. They were really the only animal he could stand, and you could ride them, too. Nothing like that giant chicken that had assaulted him in third year and Draco was even named after a dragon.

   “I’ll ask Charlie about it,” Harry grinned. “I’m sure he’d think that a fire-breathing leviathan is the perfect play-toy for our toddler.”

   “Anyway, back to interior design.” Draco knew that one day his child and his Harry would come begging for a puppy to train and love, and he wanted that day to be as far away as possible. Mostly because it wouldn’t take much for him to cave. “We’ll go on that shopping trip you promised me looking for matching sets. I’ve looked through some catalogues and found the absolute most adorable bureau with monkeys and cheetahs climbing all over it that have a hamper and rocking chair as a part of the deal.”

   The thought of Draco holding their baby in a rocking chair made Harry’s stomach flip. “Their first Halloween could be them in an animal costume. Molly would be more than happy to sew one.”

   “That’s actually really cute,” Draco laughed since he definitely wasn’t the type of bloke to say ‘cute’ in every other sentence.

   “And we could be zookeepers.”

   “ _Sexy_ zookeepers.”

   Harry gave him a shove. “Draco!”

   “What? The kid’s not going to remember their dads in boy shorts when they’re less than a year old. All we’ll have to do is hide the photos with our sex toys,” he shrugged. If marriage hadn’t dampened their love life, there was no way in hell that Draco was going to let a child stop him. They’d just lock their doors and put up a silencing charm.

   “You’re mad,” Harry said fondly before kissing him again, the ice cream from his lips smearing on Draco’s cheek. “But I love the nursery idea. The only trouble will be assembling it.”

   Draco cupped his cheek before smearing his own ice cream on Harry. “Oh, Harry. That’s what we have the Weasleys for.”

   Laughing, Harry peppered his face with kisses and curled a hand into Draco’s hair. Between the laps and smacks of lips, Draco felt a beautiful and surrounding silence. That would be long gone when a crying creature without the ability to communicate would fill their halls with shrieks.

   It seemed sort of worth it, though. Harry had a bit of pep in his step ever since Draco had agreed to do this with him, and Draco had even begun to like it himself. Not that he would admit it too ecstatically, though.

   They still had fifty women to sort through, after all. A thought that Draco, the gigantic gay he was, had never faced before.

   Rather than worrying about that or thinking about anything disturbingly heterosexual, Draco leaned into Harry’s sweet kisses.


	9. Birds of a Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m having so much fun and my Google search history is littered with peafowl sex questions! Thanks for your reviews and comments, you lot are lovely.

**Chapter 9: Birds of a Feather**

“No, no, no, that goes in _here_!”

   “Draco, I think I know what hole to put it in.”

   “Clearly you don’t. And you have to twist it, by the way.”

   “I am twisting it.”

   “I don’t think you are, Harry. Try harder.”

   “I _am_ going hard!”

   “Oh, please. I know you can go much harder.”

   “You know what, Draco, it’s difficult to screw this thing in as is, I don’t need you complaining—“

   “I’m not complaining, I’m just making sure you do the job right!”

   “—and hovering over me!”

   “Correction: I am under you.”

   “You know what? You can take this and shove it up your—“

   “Yes!” Draco shouted when the last bar on the crib finally popped into place, completing what had been an hour’s worth of baby-bed-related insanity. “ _Finally_.”

   Harry watched his husband collapse onto the plush green carpet they’d installed with a content sigh. “Happy?” Harry asked, amused by Draco’s antics.

   “Happy.”

   Once the crib was up against the wall, Harry felt free to lie down next to his husband. They looked up at the blue ceiling, soon-to-be a sky when Dean came over the next night. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

   Draco rolled over to face Harry. “And so are you,” he murmured, wondering why a sick bubble of glee rose in him when Harry called him that. “Are you ready for tonight?”

   “Of course I’m ready. At this point, I should have a bloody degree in breaking distressing news to Malfoys,” Harry grinned. After all, he had married into this and didn’t intend on divorcing out of it. ‘Forever’ meant a lot to him. “Are you ready?”

   “Maybe,” Draco whined before leaning his head on Harry’s chest. His cotton shirt was soft, and as gross as it was, the strenuous assembling had gotten Harry a little musky, and Draco liked it.

   “What if I shag you afterwards?”

   “Then I would be much more likely to get through it,” he nodded seriously.

   Harry snickered and kissed the top of Draco’s wispy blonde head. “Then I’ll simply have to.”

   “And if I asked you to shag me now?”

   Harry’s lips curled up into a grin, a slow heat consuming his body. “Then I’ll simply have to.” He moved to settle in between Draco’s thighs, pulling the shirt right off of his head.

   With nothing else to do but lie on his back, spread his legs, and let himself be fucked until orgasm, Draco let out a happy mewl. The noise struck deep inside Harry, making him even more frantic to rip Draco’s trousers and pants off at once.

   After what Harry and Draco couldn’t believe they’d actually done in their future child’s nursery—the sin! The mess! The sexual shenanigans!—they dressed themselves and left. Apparently, Draco needed a thorough shagging before and after anything that provoked even mild anxiety.

   When they arrived at the grand fireplace of the ancient Manor, they had magicked the smell of sex off of themselves for the time being. It would come around to linger near them later, like it always did. However, when they stepped into the emerald halls, their host and hostess were nowhere to be found.

   “They’re probably in the dining room,” Draco told Harry before taking his hand to lead him there in spite of the fact that Harry could now navigate the Manor blindfolded if he wanted to. Still, it wasn’t like Lucius and Narcissa not to greet them at the door and shower their boys in hugs, kisses, and probing questions about the state of their marriage and future fetus.

   They reached the dining room in record time based on Draco’s nerves alone. “Maybe they thought we were coming later?” Harry tried. When Harry was upset it could be disastrous, but Draco being anxious was on an apocalyptic level.

   He released Harry’s hand. “I’m going to check upstairs. This isn’t like them, and the bloody elf isn’t even around.”

   Harry rushed after Draco past portraits, statues, and finally up the grand staircase. “Draco! Maybe they’re outside, it’s nice out tonight—“

   That was when he heard the crash.

   Draco and Harry sprinted towards the source of the din with hearts beating fast. Draco saw it was coming from a guest room and burst in the door without a second thought. That was exactly the sort of thing he hated to see Harry do. “Mum?”

   Thankfully, no robbers, murderers, rapists, or extremists had found their way in. The scene that unfolded in front of Draco was much more light-hearted.

   “Fuck! You got me worried for nothing!” Draco yelled, frustrated.

   “Watch your mouth,” Lucius tried before the panicking peahen jumped right back up onto the neatly-made bed. Nobody had used that guest room in years. In fact, the Lestranges were the last ones

   “Sorry, sweetheart,” Narcissa said as she tried to get her nimble fingers around the hen, who had already pecked Gerda enough times for her to cower in the corner of the room. “It’s just that your father thought it would be a good idea to—“

   “It _is_ a good idea.” Narcissa threw her bothered husband a look before he finally got a grip on the peahen’s stomach and lifted up. “There. You know, my great-great grandfather used to hunt fowl. It’s a shame that it’s not as popular today,” Lucius bragged in the snooty way that only a Malfoy could. “Anyway, I’ve searched far and wide for a perfect hen for the peacocks.”

   Draco made a face and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had no clue what that insane whitish bird was, since it definitely didn’t resemble one of the peacocks he’d gotten to know. That species was all about a woman’s choice of who was the best-looking man, after all. She didn’t have to dress up or anything. “You want them to multiply?” Draco asked skeptically.

   “They’re bred from the finest birds, so there’s no reason they shouldn’t pass on their genes,” Lucius told him curtly. It felt like an analogy that Draco didn’t want to delve into. “When your child inherits the Manor, they’ll be the ones that can sell them at the highest price. It’s an investment in the future.”

   Harry found an ally in Narcissa, their eyes locking and exchanging wary looks. A daughter of Black and a son of Potter, united by madmen.

   “Father,” Draco said carefully. “Let’s eat before discussing future generations, hm?”

   “Yeah,” Harry supported, trying to show that he was there for Draco in this insanity.

   Lucius kept the peahen under his arm when he walked back down the grand staircase, the rest of the family trailing behind him. “Have you brought the candidates? We’ll pull up dental records as well; I still have a few allies in the Ministry. That way, you won’t have to waste money on dental work. Also, we can rule out those with poor eyesight—“

   “Father, Harry has glasses. _You_ have glasses.”

   “And isn’t it a hassle?” he asked smoothly, reminding himself that his own glasses were brought on by old age and Harry’s by his blind father. The week James had lost his glasses was the week that nobody at Hogwarts was safe from being walked into or grabbed for. Sirius had to call out commands to make sure James didn’t fall out of the Quidditch pitch, but it didn’t stop the animagus from yelling out the wrong orders to screw with him at every turn and make him crash into his poor girlfriend.

   Self-consciously, Harry adjusted his glasses. “No, it’s just fine.”

   Draco happened to like Harry’s glasses. It made his green eyes even more brilliant. He gave Harry a reassuring look when they reached the dining room just to remind him.

   “Gerda. Food,” Lucius demanded, not seeing the terror in her big brown eyes when she looked at the feisty peahen.

   The bird was finally set free out of a sliding glass door, being released into the wild to sort things out with her new harem of men. If Pansy were there, she would have been proud. “What are you naming her?” Harry tried, watching her waddle away to go investigate her boys.

   “Creatrix. ‘Trix’ for short,” Narcissa announced proudly. Finally, she had another woman in the house.

   ‘Trix’ joined her fellow peafowl in what Harry could only describe as a mosh pit of feathers. “It’s mating season,” Lucius informed everyone seriously, frowning when Harry and Draco erupted into laughter.

   “You bought a hen for them to gangbang?” Draco asked, still laughing. In his head, Draco imagined the pearly white beauties draped in silks and smelling of pungent spices, rubbing their necks together in a hazy, smoky and steaming room with some kind of heavy music setting a beat to their debauchery.

   “Draco!”

   “What? It’s true!” he continued, snickering. “You sent the poor thing out there to get deflowered, or defeathered, or whatever!”

   Harry elbowed Draco’s shoulder and pointed out of one of the stained-glass windows. “Look! I think she’s enjoying herself. At least your peacocks value consent, I suppose.” Beyond the window, one of the peacocks had spread his ivory tail feathers to impress his new girlfriend, and she had taken a shine to him. What happened after that, well. Harry could have lived his whole life without seeing two peafowls mate.

   Narcissa giggled and hid her face in her hand. “Maybe we should have built them a lean-to, or some sort of shelter…”

   “Whole new meaning to ‘getting a room’,” Harry smirked.

   “Can we avert our eyes?” Lucius sighed, wanting to get back to the matter at hand. They’d make sure the resulting eggs found a nest another day, and staring at the birds made Lucius feel like a voyeur. “We still have matters to discuss on the candidates you weeded out. Where are the files?”

   “Back at our house,” Draco told him calmly.

   “And why are they not here?”

   “Because we gave you some of your way, and now you’re giving us some of our way.” He placed the embroidered napkin before him on his lap. “You wanted a child that looked like us, and while it isn’t actually even your child to begin with, we accommodated you. We have it narrowed down to fifty candidates.”

   Lucius gritted his teeth. “You’re not even going to let your mother and I see them?”

   “You can meet the woman we select,” Harry offered. He pitied the girl in advance.

   “And what good will that do anyone?” Lucius asked, shoulders up in a defensive stance that he didn’t even know he did when he was threatened.

   Harry looked to Draco to explain that one. “It will do you the good of meeting the woman having our child,” Draco said simply. “Because that’s our decision.”

   “Yes,” Narcissa said carefully. “But you have to understand that we’re only trying to help.”

   “I do. We just don’t need it.”

   “Because you’re the parenting expert,” his father said sarcastically.

   Draco gave him a small, tense smile. “No, but I know healthcare. I know legal issues. I know adoption. I also know you mean well, father, so please don’t take this as an insult.” That was like telling Lucius not to breathe, utterly useless. “Trust my judgment.”

   “I do,” Lucius grumbled and tried to believe it. “But what if you make a mistake that could have been avoided by my intervention? That will stick with you for however long the child is with you. This is why in-vitro fertilization would have been much easier, simpler, safer—“

   “But we trust your judgment,” Narcissa added quickly.

   Everyone in the room was anxious for about a thousand different reasons. Lucius because he feared for his son’s family, Narcissa because she feared for Lucius’ sanity, Draco because he knew that Harry’s values had been trampled over in this process, and Harry because everyone else around him was losing their heads. “So, you’re okay with this?” Harry asked quietly.

   “Harry, when have you ever cared about my being okay with something?” Lucius asked, cutting the bullshit. Draco’s marriage to the Gryffindor had allowed Lucius to see Harry as a nonthreatening entity, allowing him to both assimilate Harry into the family and lower his boundaries

   Harry shrugged. “Well, you did say at the wedding that I could—“

   “No. You are not allowed to bring that up after going against every plan I had for this child.” Lucius had been drunk out of his mind after seeing his baby boy being married off! He may have let something slip about Harry being able to call him ‘dad’ now, but he wasn’t in his right mind at the time.

   “Really?” Harry asked, pretending to be disappointed. “And here I was thinking you spoke from the heart that night.”

   “That was when I thought we were on the same page, you deviant. We were the ones who wanted you and Draco to have children,” he pointed out. “And then you had to go to get on your moral high horse like you always do.” A Potter had ended the line of Malfoys in the world. A _Potter_.

   Draco, disturbed by the earlier royal ‘we’ being used to refer to his husband and his father, scrunched his face up. “Those were years of pressuring that I would not like to remember, hm?”

   “It wasn’t pressuring,” Harry said airily. “It was constant reminder of my needs in this relationship.” Lucius gave Harry a glare. “And your father’s—er—needs.”

   If Draco rolled his eyes any harder, they would get stuck in the back of his head. “I can’t hear another word about anybody’s n _eeds_.”

   “Oh, Draco,” Narcissa said as she took his hand from across the table. “You just wait until the baby comes. Then you’ll know what it’s like to be entirely at the whim of someone else’s needs.”

   Well, if Draco wasn’t worried enough already for that night, his mother’s comment did him in.

   He was a bloody _individual_. Even in his relationship he had a clear sense of self-sufficiency, and the only time Draco would consider anything close to subservient to Harry was when they were in bed on special occasions, or when Harry was sick.

   Draco dealt with sick people all day, too. Sick people, his father, his mother, his friends, and his husband had divided his attention almost beyond repair. How a child would change that was starting to scare Draco. In the distance, he could hear his family laughing over some sort of joke he’d missed, but it was a thousand miles away.

   His life wasn’t about him anymore. It was about Harry, the baby, the job, and the family. Where was all the ‘Draco time’? He’d had years’ worth of ‘Draco time’ when he was clubbing with Pansy and Theo. It was all bright lights, fast nights, and even quicker sex.

   There were rarely times where Draco missed the one-night stands with men who snored, kicked in their sleep, and had awful breath, but there were times that he missed the selfishness of it all. It was tough to be a narcissist when one was surrounded by people so deserving of attention. At least Harry fed into Draco’s inflated sense of self.

   He was better than a ‘good man’; Harry was a great man. He made Draco laugh until milk came out of his nose and smile so hard that his face hurt. Trading a little ‘Draco time’ for that was surely a fair exchange, right?

   As Narcissa went on about pacifiers and bibs, Draco sure hoped so. The whole wavering between ‘wanting to be a father’ and ‘wanting to run away and join the circus’ act was getting old, and fast.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Pansy couldn’t sleep. It was too hot outside and much too noisy.

   Maggie’s flat was in the meat-packing district, which was absolutely a ridiculous place to live. There were thousands of muggle trucks zipping by during the day, and women walking the street at night. To be fair, Pansy had seen one man in a pair of gold shorts. Equal opportunity.

   She lifted the cold bottle to her lip and drank in the butterbeer. When cold, that stuff could be brilliant. Considering Pansy had already done everything she could to get cold—cracked open a window, cast a spell, stripped down to her birthday suit—it was just the measure needed to get her there.

   Beside Pansy, sleeping like a goddamn log, was her girlfriend. A mess of fiery red hair strewn across the blue pillows; one that Pansy sort of adored.

   Pansy wasn’t about to lie and say she looked peaceful sleeping, though. Maggie’s mouth was open and drool was creeping out of the side, and her foot kept kicking Pansy’s ankle. Whatever dream she was having, Pansy could really just guess. Maggie never remembered her dreams.

   It was nice, though. It was nice waking up to her hand down Pansy’s panties and her breath on Pansy’s neck without a word about some inane dream or flight of fancy. Maggie was down-to-earth like that, and Pansy wondered if she even dreamed at all.

   Pansy could never escape her dreams.

   Sometimes she’d wake up in a panic, knowing she had to wash that cat with the light-pink soap before time ran out. Details of the dreams would haunt her throughout the day, a case of déjà vu playing out whenever she saw a flight of stairs that looked similar to the one she fell down the night before in her mind.

   Finishing off the bottle, Pansy put it down on the windowsill. She would have to sleep eventually, or face being exhausted at work.

   Just before she decided to crawl back onto the mattress where her snoring Scotswoman was waiting, she heard a familiar tapping.

   Pansy saw the owl trying to get into Maggie’s kitchen window, so Pansy stuck her hand out of the bedroom one and snapped to get the things attention. It was onyx black, which could only mean one person. _What the hell could Theo want at this hour_?

   After the disgruntled bird flew away without so much as a conjured treat—Pansy really didn’t have time for shenanigans like that—she tore open the letter.

_Queen Bitch of the Sahara,_

_My flat. Tomorrow. Noon. Bring alcohol, everyone will be there. It’s important._

_-Theo_

   She knew, of course, who ‘everyone’ was. It defined the Slytherin crowd, the sons and daughters of Death Eaters and their supporters. That, and Greg sometimes liked to bring his Hufflepuff girlfriend along. Abbott never really got the ‘fuck off’ memo.

   Draco knew better than to bring Harry, Blaise knew better than to bring Ginny, Theo knew better than to bring Colin, but Pansy could bring Maggie whenever she pleased. Since she hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, Pansy had her fun with trying to sort her every action into a Hogwarts house. When she dragged patients out of burning buildings she was a Gryffindor, when she cheated at poker she was a Slytherin, when she got every fact right on that stupid muggle ‘Jeopardy’ show before the contestants did, she was a Ravenclaw. Her Hufflepuff moments were rare, but even they existed when she talked about her family.

   Her family was half of the reason that Pansy couldn’t sleep. The next day, she would be meeting Maggie’s _mum_. An incredibly official and meaningful step in a relationship that Pansy had never, ever done before.

   When Theo had gone to meet Colin’s dad for the first time, it had taken every Slytherin they knew to calm him down. ‘What if he hates me?’ ‘What if I accidentally curse in front of him?’ ‘What if he figures out that my father killed hundreds of muggles over his lifetime?’ ‘What if he doesn’t like the way I dress?’ ‘What if he thinks Colin could do better?’.

   Draco had actually had to smack him to calm the poor man down. Pansy sort of wished he were there with her to do her the same favor.

   Pansy Parkinson did not lie to herself. She was a brutal, ambitious, lazy, vicious, and scandalized woman. She knew how other people saw her.

   The bitch that wanted to hand over Harry Potter, the whore who’d slept with half of wizarding London…

   “Fuck ‘em,” she muttered to herself. It was easy to say that about people who yelled things at her in the street or patients who tried to pinch her arse whenever she treated them, but this was Maggie’s mother. She’d gone through labor to push a baby out, spent thousands on raising said baby, gone through an awful divorce and a battle to keep said baby, and now said baby was a grown woman with questionable taste in other women.

   “Fuck me,” Maggie offered. Shit, Pansy hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped snoring.

   “You’re insatiable.”

   “And you’re an insomniac. Who the hell is owling you at this hour?”

   Pansy tossed her the letter. “Theodore is in some sort of crisis. We should probably swing by his flat before we get to your mum’s house.”

   “Hm,” Maggie said as she read, sitting up and letting the covers fall to expose her chest. “Yeah, that’s fine. Did the owl wake you?”

   She shook her head.

   “Come back to bed, Pans.”

   Letting out a hiss of air, Pansy decided that was probably for the best. She tossed the bottle in the garbage and sprawled herself out on top of the mattress, one hand occupying Maggie’s waist.

   “Isn’t that better?” Maggie kissed her cheek.

   “Yeah,” Pansy murmured with a little smile, though she was unsure as ever.

   “Exactly. Sleep tight, Princess.”


	10. Doing Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! It’s been a tough week, but every time someone favorites/follows/reviews my works, I get an email that brightens my day. Thank you.

**Chapter 10: Doing Right**

The offending token sat on Theo’s coffee table, surrounded by the shocked faces of his friends.

   “ _Fuck_.”

   “When did you get this?”

   “ _Where_ did you get it?” Draco asked, enraptured.

   “You’re missing the point!” Theo yelled and stopped his frantic pacing. He was going to tear his hear out strand by strand; these Slytherins weren’t helping. “The point,” he explained slowly, voice rising in pitch. He sounded a bit like a prepubescent boy all over again, trying to ask Zacharias Smith to the Yule Ball. “Is that I bought it.”

   Blaise stood to give his friend a sad clap on the back. “Looks like you’re joining the dark side, mate.”

   “Wait,” Pansy interrupted, taking a moment to look at Maggie. “This is the first time that all of us are in a relationship. Every single one of us.”

   “It’s been that way for a while,” Greg muttered, though that was ignored as most of his grumblings were.

   “You’re still missing the goddamn fucking point!” Theo reminded them. As Theo became more frustrated, his vocabulary became much more colorful. “Useless, all of you!”

   That last little crack in Theo’s voice made Draco break eye-contact with that heavenly diamond. “Theo, this ring is beautiful. I really mean it, okay? This is _beautiful_.”

   “I know,” Theo said miserably. “I shouldn’t have bought it.”

   “What? Get a grip, you big poof. Colin is going to love it and you know that,” Draco told him quickly, standing up to take the ring in his hand. Next to Draco’s silver wedding ring with a glowing ammolite chunk, the gold of Colin’s band looked even more brilliant. It looked like string, like the metal was molten enough to bend and curve to Draco’s touch. “Tell me what you were thinking when you bought it.”

   Theo pushed back his jet-black hair. “Um. Something along the lines of: ‘If this jeweler tells The Prophet, I’ll knock his crooked teeth out’.”

   “I mean when you first saw the ring,” Draco sighed. It had been love at first sight with Harry and his wedding rings in a dark Knockturn Alley shop full of curiosities and rarities of all sorts. Just because Draco’s ceremony was done didn’t mean he was done with his wedding-planning- obsession.

   In a sort of masochistic way, Draco had enjoyed the whole process. It was the ultimate power-trip, and it had given him an excuse to misbehave on account of ‘wedding stress’. Groomzillas always got what they wanted, too.

   “I thought about this boat,” Theo muttered, staring at the floor. It felt stupid to admit out loud. “I rented it years ago when I went on vacation by myself before buying it for good. Do you remember it?” Draco nodded. “Well, one night in Boca I decided I was going to learn how to drive the thing without magic. I didn’t take lessons or anything; I just went out into the water and tried to figure it out.”

   “Does this story have a point?” Pansy whispered to her girlfriend before getting an elbow in her side. Maggie wanted to hear why Theodore—the boy who turned his nose up at public pools—had any interest whatsoever in the ocean.

   “And for a while, I sort of figured it out. I could only go at like three miles per hour, but it didn’t matter. After an hour of pulling at every lever and pushing every button, I finally got it. I know this has nothing to do with rings, but you know how I am with water.”

   How Theo ‘was with water’ was always a wonderful source for jokes. The man was like a cat, for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t go near the stuff other than showers, drinking, and potions. He wasn’t even too fond of baths.

   “Did you sink?” Greg inquired, genuinely curious. The fact that Theo was there in the flesh as proof that he hadn’t drowned to death wasn’t the first thing on the other man’s mind.

   “No. It was just—the sun was setting, which already makes this sound like a shitty postcard that you see poor Americans selling in drug stores, so I tried to go towards it just to be a cliché. It was like I was chasing the sun or something,” he shrugged. “And right when I was on the edge of it, like all I had to do was push a little more and it would be mine. Then, well. I ran out of gas.”

   Maggie snorted out a laugh. She was beginning to see Pansy’s earlier complaining in a more justified light.

   “So then you saw the ring,” Draco continued, the only one of his friends who was hanging on every word. That was his best friend, his _brother_. They’d been through hell, high water, and awkward family reunions together.

   “So then I saw the ring.”

   “And?”

   “I dunno. I caught the sun.”

   Draco’s mouth curled into a lopsided grin. “Marry him, you big idiot.”

   “No.” Theo snatched the ring from Draco’s hands. “Now’s not a particularly opportune time.”

   Blaise and Pansy exchanged looks. When had the sexcapades turned into cold wedding feet? Draco being married off was one thing considering him and Harry had been attached at the hip for three years, but this fling between the Potioneer and the Photographer hadn’t even aged to a year. What Slytherins needed most was time to adjust, Greg supposed.

   “And it has barely been a year,” Pansy added. She was against this, and she was sticking by her guns. Well, metaphorically, of course. Pansy Parkinson had never seen a gun in her life.

   Blaise joined in. “And that sort of commitment is forever. As in, you know, _forever_. Are you willing to wake up to puns and camera flashes every morning? And I know sex stuff is something you and Draco talk about while braiding each other’s hair and giggling in your sleeping bags, but are you going to only fuck one bloke your whole life?”

   “I don’t know!” Theo yelled, stuffing the ring back into the box and into his pocket. “I just… I bought it! Mindlessly.”

   “You don’t have to propose tomorrow,” Draco told him, shooting Pansy and Blaise an icy look. He knew from personal experience how snippy and doubtful they could be, even though they had Theo’s best interests at heart. Very, very deep in the cockles of their hearts, somewhere behind a black hole that contained memories of second year.

   “But keep it. The ring is beautiful, Theo. When the moment’s right, and that doesn’t have to be for fucking years if you want, then show him.”

   “Have you two even talked about marriage?” Pansy asked. “I don’t mean to ruin your True Love Parade, Draco, but you and Harry had at least spoken about marriage.”

   “Once or twice,” Draco lied. There had been extensive talks, debates, fights, and make-ups. “If you see a future with someone, then marriage isn’t that big of a step.”

   “’Isn’t that big of a step’? I can’t fucking believe this! You—Draco, you goddamn hypocrite. You threw a binder full of color swatches at a florist! You dragged Harry to _thirty_ different countries while ring shopping, and called a waiter a ‘senseless plebian’ when he folded a napkin the wrong way. Don’t tell me marriage isn’t a big deal, you twat!”

   Draco rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. “ _Weddings_ are a big deal. Marriage? It’s relatively similar to the relationship that came before. All we do differently is file our taxes together and manage our joint account,” he told him.

   “Go fuck yourself,” Theo tried weakly. “Every last one of you.”

   “What did you want from us?” Blaise asked with a laugh. Theo knew his friends, and it was his own fault if he forgot how useless they were at life guidance.

   Theo shrugged and sat down on his coffee table. “I don’t know, something radical and out of left field that would change my perspective on life? And if I wanted someone to encourage me I’d just have called Draco. You lot are here to make me stop this.”

   “You expect too much,” Maggie told him plainly.

   “I’m aware.”

    “So, you want it to stop,” Pansy latched onto. “Then that’s it. Chuck the ring in the closet and don’t propose, and give it two or twenty years.”

   “I don’t really want it to stop,” Theo clarified, since he was officially unclear on everything. “I mean, I bought it for a reason.”

   “So you wanted us to make your decision for you?” Greg asked in a rare moment of wisdom. In his humble opinion, that was a terrible idea.

   Oh. That sounded about right, yeah. “No,” Theo lied. “I just… Uh. I wanted to let you know. All of you.”

   “Now we know,” Blaise sighed. “Anything else anyone wants to share?”

   “I fucked Maggie in the shower this morning.”

   “My father is driving me insane and compared my adoption life to peafowl genes.”

   “Hannah used the word ‘ostentatious’ this morning and I had to get a dictionary just to figure out what she meant.”

   “That,” Blaise said slowly, voice full of regret. “Was a rhetorical question.”

   Theo let out a groan of defeat, slumping on his coffee table. “This doesn’t leave me any less lost, you prats.”

   “You’ll figure it out,” Draco assured him, patting the poor man’s shoulder. “You two love each other and all of that, and you’re committed to that. And if it doesn’t work out, there’s always divorce.”

   That didn’t really seem to help, either.

   Theo was torn. He’d done a stupid, impulsive thing, and was left to face the reality of it. Honestly, he felt like he’d been dreaming when he bought the ring. All Theo had to do was put a sack of gold coins on the table and the ring was his, to do whatever he wanted with. He could tie it to a kite and let the thing sail into the clouds and land in an inner city kid’s TV antennae and that kid could pawn it off for thousands. He could throw it into the ocean like that muggle movie he’d watched about the ship and the iceberg.

   Maybe he could slip it in some girl’s drink at a restaurant when she was on a date with some boy and watch him have a conniption.

   Or, maybe, he could just throw it at Colin the second he walked in the door and break down crying in a fit of disoriented emotion. How sexy would that be? Nothing turned a man on like emotional volatility and daddy issues.

   Oh, fuck, was that even a part of it?

   With one last defeated sigh, Theo tuned back into the conversation. It had moved on to being about Pansy’s problems, as it always did.

   She was going on about how she’d cycled through ‘at least eight’ outfits that morning before picking one that was appropriate enough to be a meet-the-parents outfit and fabulous enough to be perfectly Pansy.

   Theo, who could care less, would forget the entire conversation an hour later. All he would know was that there was a ring box in his pocket and he was no closer to an answer than he had been when he saw the damn thing behind glass.

   He wondered if it would look any better on Colin’s left hand.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The meeting had gone too well. Suspiciously well. Pansy didn’t trust how well it had gone.

   “She liked you,” Maggie told her plainly. “Quit being so dramatic about it.”

   “I am not being dramatic!”

   “She says as she yells and flails about.”

   Pansy narrowed her eyes before stepping onto the stoop of her flat. It wasn’t as grand as she would have liked it to be, but so was the price of moving out of the bedroom she’d had since girlhood. After all the drinking and parties they put up with, her parents were glad to see her go. “Shut up.”

   “Princess,” Maggie sighed. “My mum wouldn’t lie about liking you. Believe me, I get my honesty from her.” She also got her wild hair from her mother, but Pansy ignored the old ‘that’s what you’ll be getting in twenty years’ saying nagging at the back of her skull.

   Her weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Yeah, yeah.” Pansy did her best to look anywhere but into Maggie’s eyes. They were too honest for her liking.

   She felt a soft hand rest on her cheek. “Hey.”

   “Hey,” Pansy responded with a tense smile.

   “What’s got you so worked up? You liked the pasta, she liked you… Did you not like her?”

   Pansy snapped to attention. “What? No! She was, er, lovely! As lovely as I expected and everything. Maggie, it’s not a problem with her.”

   “Then what is it?” She wasn’t going to drop her girlfriend off and leave her to drink herself into a stupor over a meeting with Maggie’s mum. She wasn’t even half as fiery as Maggie was. That came from her father.

   She took a deep breath. How was one supposed to explain this? “It’s—um. I dunno. It was nice. Seeing where you grew up and stuff. I kept imagining you walking around there as a kid, when your hair was probably twice as big as you. I could see you getting milk from the fridge and cookies from the cookie jar.”

   “And the thought of me as a little girl turned you off?” Maggie asked, skeptical.

   “It made me—“ _See you as a person, want to move in with you so I could hold onto all night like you deserve, make me want to kiss you and think about boats and rings._ “—It was just strange, okay? You know I’ve never done this bit of the relationship. It’s new.”

   “I’m your first,” she realized, beaming. “I’m taking Pansy Parkinson’s relationship virginity.”

   “Don’t sound so goddamn smug about it. I’m giving it to you.”

   Maggie smirked, her freckles moving with her expression across her pale cheeks. “I’m glad I’ve got consent, then.”

   “Fuck off.” Pansy crossed her arms.

   The little smirk on Maggie’s face didn’t even falter. “If you want me to, sure.”

   “I really do,” she decided, huffing. This was getting too close for comfort. “But give me a kiss first, because you’re the worst.”

   Ah, Pansy logic. Some of the best and worst thinking in the world right there.

   Maggie dipped forward and gave their lips a messy, wonderful union. “Sleep well,” she told Pansy. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

   “Yeah,” Pansy said, still in disbelief that she had shaken Maggie’s mother’s hand.

   Maggie had come out of that woman’s _vagina_. How insane was that? That woman had given her daughter the gift of life, and somehow, the gift of magic through birth. Not even the premiere researchers in the wizarding world could explain muggleborns and what made them different from other babies.

   Pansy’s metamorphosis into accepting muggleborns came from that purely scientific standpoint. Sure, she’d been against the idea of making flower chains with muggle populous of the world for most of her life, but she wasn’t doing anything of the sort. Apparently, acceptance didn’t mean going horribly out of your way to not be a dick.

   Anyway, Maggie’s mother’s vagina aside, Pansy still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was wrong. Maybe it had to do with Maggie’s vagina.

   “Owl me nude pictures later,” Pansy decided before waiting for an answer and running up to her flat. Yes, that was it. Nude pictures, a bottle of wine, and a terrible book could fix every problem in her life thus far, so she hoped it wouldn’t disappoint her this time.

   Looking up at Pansy’s window, Maggie shook her head. That woman was insane in at least twelve different ways. _Psychiatrists should be studying her._

   The craziest part was that when she got home, she would whip her old camera out of the bottom of her closet.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “Oh, that’s just immoral.”

   “Really? Are you really judging me on this?” Grace asked, securing her hair in a tight bun complete with bobby pins and muggle hairspray. When her stomach contents were volatile as ever, she had to keep them out of her hair. Tiffany wasn’t the best hair-holder, either.

   What Tiffany was best at was judgment. It was a talent that would make her a promising career in the food critic or movie review business. “It’s the straw that broke the ultra-wrong camel’s back. You know it’s like illegal to lie on job applications, right?”

   “Good thing I didn’t apply for any jobs.”

   “Grace,” Tiff sighed. “You’re lying to your baby daddies.”

   “I’m lying on a Ministry application,” Grace clarified. “And don’t call them that. It sounds weird.”

   “Would you prefer ‘infant sires’?” she asked with narrowed eyes. Grace saw Tiffany pin her hair back behind her ears on the bed, either to mimic what Grace had done with her own hair or to mirror the woman in the magazine they were looking at.

   Tiffany was a sucker for muggle gossip rags in spite of her wizarding upbringing.

   She was a royal-watcher, a celebrity-stalker, and in her worst moments, downright obsessed with Kate Middleton’s childhood. Tiffany Sato had read every article that there was to read on ‘Waity Kaity’ and her quest for a ring.

   “They’re going to know you’re not a pureblood,” Tiffany continued. “You already showed up at their bloody house and told them your name. Professor Lupin taught during your mum’s time at Hogwarts. There’s no way they’ll be okay with that.”

   “I also lied on other bits,” Grace bragged, flipping the magazine page. “I said I was five-ten when I’m only five-six, and I greatly underestimated my weight.”

   Tiffany rolled her eyes. “You’re a nutter.”

   “A nutter who will be moving out of your house soon enough. I think they’re going to pick me.”

   “How?” she asked her friend, sort of grateful for the idea of being left alone in her own house to silence rather than pregnancy talk. Those cravings for ribs and bread dough (no, not cooked, just the dough) at strange hours of the night were really getting to her.

   “Because,” Grace said as if it were obvious. “I also lied and said I was good at archery, and that I had a distant relation to the old monarchies of Norway. I figured Lucius could appreciate that. Plus, I lied about how I’m 1/8th Latina.”

   “And what happens when they find out about these lies?”

   She shrugged. “By then it’ll be too late. I’ll have charmed them with my personality and my fetus.”

   “Okay, now I really know you’ve gone off the deep end,” Tiffany laughed before flipping to a page on the summer’s hottest make-up tips.

   Grace shook her head. She’d seen enough hospital dramas to understand how this went. “They’ll hear its heartbeat, Tiff. They’ll get an ultra-sound and say ‘that’s _our_ baby’, and I will look at them and tell them ‘that’s _your_ baby’. Soon I can figure out if it’s a boy or a girl, and then they’ll be picking out names. It’ll be _their_ Jasper or _their_ Gina.”

   “You’re fuckin’ evil,” Tiff laughed. Even as a snake herself she wouldn’t go so far. “Your fertilized egg as bait? That’s evil.”

   “It’s what the best is for this kid. You know how your dad works all the time?” Grace pointed out, as if Tiffany needed reminding. “It’s because he thinks that’s what’s best for you. He makes money to make you happy, and it’s all a means-to-an-end process.”

   “I guess you’re right.”

   “Just like daddy-dearest probably made Draco and Harry compromise on what kind of adoptive mother they’ll be having,” Grace went on. “All I have to do is fake it, and bam. The kid has a great life with two dads who love it unconditionally and shower it in presents every Christmas and birthday.”

   Somewhere in a far-away manse, Lucius Malfoy thought he was doing right for his child. So did Molly Weasley when she cooked veritable banquets when Ron visited, and so did Sirius when he told Olivia to put down the quill, to stop applying for jobs for the hundredth time, and gave her a kind smile when she finally gave in and let him teach her how to work the muggle telly.

   Wasn’t that what everyone wanted? It had been what James and Lily wanted when they had Harry, and what Lucius and Narcissa had wanted, too.

   Their apprehensions, hopes, and dreams went on to their next generation. Now it was Draco and Harry who wanted to do right by their kids. Grace wanted to do right, too.

   The more she went over it in her head, the more sense it made. Grace could close her eyes and see a little kid running around that house with their siblings, and how Draco would read them a bedtime story as Harry tucked them in.

   By mistake, Grace had made a person.

   A person who would grow to have memories, favorite smells, and hated rivals. Right now they were just an unconscious blob, but the second they came screaming into the world, Grace would create a life.

   She felt responsible for it. Not in the way that she’d drop out of school and give her life up for the damn thing, but in the way that she wanted it to have a decent life. With Draco and Harry, it was crystal clear that their standards of living would be more than ‘decent’.

   The kid would never speak to their birth parents, never see their mummy, or hear about their family history. That was for the better, in Grace’s opinion.

   Had her mother been around, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Grace would have never gotten pregnant from some half-drunk Hufflepuff with crooked teeth. Maybe she would have had the sense to get an abortion so that her birth canal wouldn’t be ripped to shreds by a human head coming out of it.

   The thought alone of giving birth made her sick. Hopefully, Draco and Harry could give her epidurals and a C-Section. She could deal with scars much more easily than push-push-pushing a child out.

   “Then, Grace Burbage,” Tiffany decided after some thought (though her moral compass never really did lean to a true North). “You be the best fake you can be. Draco and Harry will know who you are, but the rest of that family will have no idea. Trust me. I’ve read up on Lucius and Draco’s relationship quite a bit.”

   “From what? The Prophet?”

   “Duh.”

   “That rag is garbage,” Grace reminded her.

   “Some of it’s true! Did you know that Narcissa is rumored to have donated money to a charity for house elf rights? There’s enough secrets in that family that you might be able to slip by.”

   “That’s the plan,” Grace nodded before flipping the magazine shut.


	11. Compromise, Comfort, and Other ‘C’ Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in one of those moods for manic writing. I love it. Also, time to play Spot The Doctor Who References! Thanks for the reviews and comments!

**Chapter 11: Compromise, Comfort, and Other ‘C’ Words**

“They’re all starting to look the same,” Harry mumbled by the twenty-seventh folder. Did every blonde woman in Britain suddenly morph into one person? Harry could pick out his blondie in a crowd, but these people were a massive blur to him. “What’s this one’s name?”

   “Janice Goldman,” Draco told him with just about the same amount of exhaustion. Thus far they’d only been able rule out five women on distance and three on responsibility issues. The reasons that they wouldn’t pick certain mothers would deteriorate over time into more petty reasons for the sake of getting the damn thing over with. “We really need to start ruling more women out.”

   “But we haven’t even met them, and that hardly seems fair.”

   “Look, she’s seventh months pregnant,” Draco pointed out. “Didn’t we say we wanted five or less months?”

   Harry half-heartedly tossed the file into the trashcan they’d place next to the bed. “None of this seems fair, actually. I know that we’ll have to eventually only pick one, but privately judging these women as somehow not good enough to have our kid.”

   “It’s not like that, Harry. We just have to pick the best candidate. Okay, now here’s Rachel Priestly. She’s twenty-six, married her high school sweetheart, but he died a few days after they found out she was pregnant. Now she’s giving up the kid because she can’t raise it on her own,” Draco went on.

   That must have been a nightmare for her. Harry wouldn’t know what to do if suddenly Draco wasn’t there by his side one morning. It was his worst fear, and those less and less frequent nightmares of Harry’s featured it as his demise.

   And if he and Draco were having a child? Oh, that would ruin Harry. He could hardly blame Rachel for wanting to give up the baby. “That’s horrible,” he murmured.

   “Yeah,” he nodded solemnly in agreement. “I can’t find anything wrong with her right now, either.”

   “Not even the distance?”

   “She lives in London and works as a tailor,” Draco read. “Great bill of health, parents deceased…”

   “I think she’s a keeper for the second round,” Harry said, liking the sound of that.

   Draco put the file on the pile of women that made it past the preliminary sweep.

   “And here is…” Harry said, picking up the next unread file. “Penny Crosby. Shit, she’s _fourteen_.”

   A frown spread over Draco’s face. “Then she’s probably too young for her hips to have fully developed. That’s a lot of health problems during delivery that we don’t need.” As much as the idea of vaginal birth disgusted Draco Malfoy-Potter, a cesarean section sounded even worse.

   While Harry couldn’t help but agree, he was still flabbergasted. “Fourteen, though! I didn’t even realize how gay I was until fifth year, and I certainly had never shagged anyone before leaving Hogwarts,” Harry said. “That’s insane! Where do people even go to shag at Hogwarts?”

   “Room of Requirement, empty dorms, abandoned classrooms, prefect’s bathroom…”

   “Ew.” Harry made a face. Recalling Draco’s promiscuous past was not one of his treasured hobbies. “What if you got caught, though?”

   “It depends on who caught you. Students laughed and ran, McGonagall gave a stern talk and a warning the first time and a trip to the office the second time, Dumbledore gave you the sex talk—which was emotionally scarring enough to make sure he never found you again—and Snape just sort of looked at me disappointedly.”

   “Wait, so he wasn’t disappointed twenty-four seven?” Harry asked with a mock astonishment.

   Draco rolled his eyes. “There were rare moments of semi-contentedness.”

   Somehow, Harry doubted that. The man claimed to have loved his mother, but the whole thing smack of obsession. If Severus had really loved Lily, then how could he have treated her son with such disdain? It had been an uphill battle with him every step of the way from grades to war, and the excuse that Harry ‘looked like his father’ was a weak one.

   James may have been a jerk as a child, but Severus had been one as an adult. When Harry thought of the things he called Hermione, Draco’s prodding as a child against her paled in comparison. A teacher was supposed to build their students up, not tear them down because they were smart and inquisitive. Even though Remus couldn’t brew to save his life, Harry wished he had taught potions. Maybe he would have actually learned something, then. “Yeah, sounds like a ball.”

   Draco prickled at the mention of his godfather. Severus hadn’t been nice, or honest, or caring, or fair… Wait, where was he going with this? Ah, yes, Severus was still the man who saved Draco’s life in the prefect’s bathroom after Harry did something rather regrettable. “Anyway,” Draco muttered, pushing away the awful memory of the man he’d married. “She’s too young, and goes to a school in France anyway. Maybe there’s a sex room there.”

   Harry laughed. “Seems very French of them, yeah.”

   “You know, the ten-year reunion is coming up soon at Hogwarts,” Draco drawled, resting a hand on Harry’s bicep. Mm, had that gotten bigger lately? Summer always did do wonders for Harry’s figure. “I could give you a little private tour.”

   Harry grinned slowly. “Oh? Well, it’d have to be of all the places I didn’t get to go at our stay there.”

   “Have you ever seen the dungeons that arch off of the Slytherin commonroom?” Draco asked lightly, his lips brushing up against the shell of Harry’s ear. “They’ve got the windows that let the light from the lake in, and candles down the halls…”

   “Draco Malfoy-Potter, are you trying to take me into the sex dungeon of your youth?”

   “I know,” Draco nodded. “I’m a masterful romantic who knows how fond you are of chains and stone floors. You’re a very lucky man.”

   “I am.” Harry turned in to trail kisses up his neck and rested on the soft blonde hairs near his temple. Slowly, his hand curled around Draco’s thigh, rubbing the silky fabric of his pyjamas.

   “Mm, Harry?”

   “Yes?”

    “Be a love and pass me the next file.”

   “Tease,” he huffed before tossing the manila envelope onto Draco’s lap and stealing a quick kiss. Harry opened the file so that it rested on both of their laps, and seconds later he wished he hadn’t opened it at all.

   Draco grimaced. “Well.”

   “Interesting.”

   “Predictable.”

   “What?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow. “Just because she harassed you at work doesn’t mean that she could get past your, er, filtration process.” It still made his stomach feel uneasy to think about. Hermione’s words stuck in his head.

   Draco inspected the box where she checked ‘pureblood’, and there was no way she had ‘supportive parents’ like the form indicated. “She lied.” A laugh bubbled up. “That crazy… That…” Draco was about to use a word he only used on the most special and rare of occasions. If he used it too often, like ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’, it would be too common.

   This word was reserved. It held a weight to it, and a certain regality in Draco’s opinion.

   “That _cunt_.”

   “At least she’s not fourteen.”

   “It’s very means to an end,” Draco admitted sadly. “She’s more Slytherin than I knew.”

  “This isn’t Slytherin, it’s just fucking ridiculous! She’s some crazed fangirl, Draco. I don’t think we should trust—“ Harry cut himself off.

   Desperate times called for desperate measures, right? That was certainly what Grace had resorted to, and Harry knew how tempting it was to sink down to that, too. She’d opened an alleyway for the both of them, that scoundrel.

   Draco stared at his husband, confused. “Yes? Use your words.”

   “I don’t know. Maybe we’re being too quick to judge her.”

   “Harry, you once hexed a girl for peeping on us when we stayed in that hotel in France,” Draco drawled with an easy grin.

   Harry went red. “I thought she was an intruder!” he defended. “And that was different!”

   “Much different than a girl passing out in front of our house to get in?” he asked.

   “Yes! This was for the good of an unborn child and the peeping girl… Well, she was just horny!” Harry reminded him. “You’ve done absolutely insane things in the pursuit of arousal.”

   “To my consenting husband, yes. That little display of libido was entirely uncalled for,” he huffed, putting Grace’s file down.

   Harry made a face. It really, really had been. He’d sat through Ron’s vivid descriptions of his and Hermione’s, er, ginger-making, but that was Harry’s limit. Plus, he could get revenge on Ron by taking him up on his offer to have more bloke-talk to describe his and Draco’s non-child-producing rolls in the sheets.

   “Okay,” Harry admitted. “Then let’s forget about that. We should focus on Grace.” Lovely, muggleborn Grace.

   Draco gave him a look. “You’re a nutter. I’m not going to accommodate a psychopath in our home. We’ve just unpacked the dragon eggs!”

   It had been the last thing to unpack. Harry had been so happy that the move was over that he launched a cardboard box out of the window and onto their verdant-green backyard. That sad little box on the grass had given Draco the inspiration to start searching for a water display to set up there. A bench could go next to the water and some poinsettias from the Malfoy gardens…

   “I’m not a nutter,” Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Will you take my input seriously on this?”

   “What? I always do.” The last thing Draco wanted was to pick a fight, so he moved that wandering hand of his up around Harry’s shoulder. “Talk to me.” To encourage Harry, Draco gave him a little kiss on the shoulder. This was their child.

   Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t feel right. I don’t feel right about the way we ruled women out of the search. I know it was to make peace with your father—“ Draco could have seen this coming from a mile away. “—but I can’t stop thinking about the feeling in my stomach when we did it. I don’t blame you, I don’t, but I felt wrong.”

   “And you think a lost and confused sixteen year-old is going to help with that?” he asked carefully, skeptically. The little crack in Harry’s voice when he said ‘wrong’ had him feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to indulge this. He’d need reasoning and logic behind Harry’s decision.

   “No, it’s not that simple. I mean, if we’re giving Rachel Priestly a chance, we need to give Grace Burbage that same chance. I think that’s the only way that I could feel right,” Harry said.

   “Harry, I thought we discussed this.”

   “We did,” he sighed. “I’m entitled to change my mind, you know. This feels _wrong_.”

   The decision rested on a single question, then. “Are you not happy?”

   Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder and pursed his lips. They’d vowed to keep each other happy along with compromise on issues, but this felt too wrong. He cared for Draco, his mental wellbeing, and sometimes even his family, but it was true.

   “We could go back to the agency,” Draco sighed exhaustedly. If Grace Burbage was the only solution to Harry’s moral dilemma, then Draco would create another one. “Pull the rest of the files…”

   Harry lit up. “You would really do that?”

   Draco frowned and refused to answer. Lucius was going to throw an absolute fit, and it had been hard enough to go through fifty files. “Not all of the rest of them.”

   “I love you,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

   “Quit being so eager,” he muttered. “We’re not going to take away all of the restrictions. This time, we’ll narrow it down by distance, age, parental support…”

   “You know, that means Grace and her lies still get through to the second round.”

   Draco shook his head. “There are lots of muggleborn girls you have to choose from now. Poor ones, illiterate ones, even disabled ones!”

   “Draco,” Harry said slowly, shaking his head. “Never say that again. That was bad. Like, very bad.” After taking a second to question his life decisions, Harry continued. “I’ll tell Lucius on my own. I don’t want you getting hurt for this.”

   “Good.”

   “Just one catch.”

   “I hate you,” Draco decided. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening of sorting and snuggling. Harry and his stupid fucking moral compass had ruined it all, and ruined any future brunches with Narcissa and Lucius.

   Harry snickered and kissed his cheek. “No, you don’t.”

   “I want a divorce.”

   “No, you don’t,” Harry reminded him happily.

   “What’s the catch, you horrid twat?”

   “Don’t count Grace out just yet, okay?” Harry asked. This wasn’t a deal breaker or anything, but with the opening of her file had come the opening of hundreds more. Something in Harry felt grateful for her lies because of that.

   Draco closed his eyes and brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose. “This is giving me a headache.”

   Harry kissed his aching temples. “Please,” he said, pushing on.

   “You’re coming shopping for a water piece with me, you’re making dinner tonight, and then you’re giving me a foot rub,” Draco told him.

   “Done, done, and done,” Harry said without hesitation.

   Draco laughed darkly. “You think I’m done already? That’s adorable. You’re also wearing panties to work tomorrow, coming home and letting me spank you, reading me a passage from the book I’m reading right now, and… Hm. What else should I have you do?”

   “Anything you want,” he murmured against Draco’s skin. It was true. Anything Draco wanted was his and Harry would give him the world.

   “Anything you want…?” Draco prompted him to finish the sentence.

   “Sir.”

   Oh, there it was. That beautiful sigh of submission, the way Harry pushed up against Draco, so vulnerable and open…

   From the first night that Harry had let ‘master’ slip out of his mouth in bed, it’d been a whirlwind of lust and lunacy. Draco’s eyes had gone wild and wide, with a look that Harry could strangely see resembling a kid on Christmas getting all he asked for.

   It wasn’t really proper etiquette to break out the ‘I would love to dominate you in bed’ talk on a date, Draco had supposed. Sure, he’d had boyfriends and one-night stands that had submitted to him before, but that was because they were the ones who brought it up. With Harry, he kept his claws deep into his secret desires and didn’t even like admitting to himself that he had one.

   It had always been there, of course. His dreams were haunted by dark figures in even darker cloaks all his life, but something crept into those dreams at sixteen.

   It had started out simple. He’d dream of men on top of him, holding him down and being rough. Then, the men stopped holding Harry down and tied him down with chains and ropes. They’d only let him out if he was a good boy, which involved answering a lot of questions.

   Most of the time when Harry woke up, he couldn’t even remember those questions. They weren’t important.

   After them, the world of dreams became a slippery slope greased in lubricant. The pain came.

   The hits, the slaps, the kicks, the nails in Harry’s back. Though they were all imagined, Harry felt them as clearly as he would feel Draco’s later that night. His stomach would flip at the thought of being tossed over a man’s knee and having his panties yanked down so a big, strong hand could discipline him.

   Soon after the dreams progressed to full-blown fetish-filled fantasies. The humiliation came into play with his hair being yanked and slurs being thrown at him with every turn. Harry had thought he was sick, for wanting someone to call him names that he would punch them for if it were somewhere outside of his bed.

   The need for subservience overwhelmed his shame and guilt, though. Harry was in charge of keeping citizens safe at age twenty, and a world safe at age eleven. He’d led an army at seventeen, and people had died. People he loved.

   When he looked back on it now, it all made sense that he’d want to be submissive. Serving Draco cleared his mind in a way that Harry could rarely do on his own. He could have one purpose with no complications or responsibilities other than to obey.

   Commands were clear. They were simple, concise, and direct. They never had a hidden meaning. Maybe that was what made Draco the perfect match.

   Draco’s cutting glare, his strong grip, and his even stronger sense of imperious power over all—the sort that was instilled in his childhood, too—made him severe enough to keep Harry in line. He knew Harry’s limits and pushed them regularly.

   Maybe the really strange part was what they did afterwards, though.

   After the spanking, bruises, whipping, torture, humiliation, slaps, and the fight Harry had to put up just to come during sex with Draco’s permission, they were both at peace.

   Still somewhere between subspace and reality, Harry needed reassurance. For lack of a better word, what he really needed were cuddles. He needed Draco to hold him and rub his sore bruises and kiss his face. Draco filled those needs and more, of course.

_“Such a good boy,” he’d whisper into Harry’s hair. “You’ve done so well. I love you; do you know that?”_

_And Harry would nod and smile and kiss his master’s throat and arch into his every touch. He was happy, and when they woke the next morning, they would move seamlessly back into being Draco and Harry once more._

_Harry would wake up first and Draco would soon follow, and maybe try to sneak in a round two before work._

_“Want to meet up for lunch?” Draco would ask casually, fastening his shirt-buttons._

_When Harry would get up to dress himself, Draco would give him that look again. “Right,” Harry would say, going into the compartment of their bureau they told nobody about and fishing out a pair of silken purple panties._

_“I want the green ones on you.”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_When they were both dressed, their jovial conversation would continue. “Want to check out the new exhibit at the History of Magic Museum?”_

_“Is this your way of tricking me into another double-date with the Weasleys?”_

_“Yes. Yes it is.”_

_And Draco would nod and smile and kiss his Harry’s cheek before walking out the door to work and watching Harry, covered in last night’s bruises and sores, walk a with a strange limp that Draco knew was from his underwear not fitting quite right._

Sometimes, how fond he was of that kinky fuck was a little ridiculous.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   On the other side of London, two men who had quite literally done all of what Draco and Harry were doing and ten thousand other things were facing a new and vaguely sex-related situation.

   “So,” Sirius said, putting a reassuring hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

   “Erm.” What the hell was she supposed to say?

   From the other side of the budding young woman, Remus shook his head. “I’m sorry, Olivia.”

   “For what?” she asked, confused.

   “For being… I don’t know, very _me_ about this. You know what? Let’s just go. Let’s just run into the store and divide and conquer and get hundreds of bras. We could get an army of bras, if you want.”

   Sirius burst into a laugh. “Oh, Moony. What would the army of bras even be at war with?”

   The fact that Sirius Lupin was amused enough by this to try and apply logic to this ridiculous situation indicated the backwards nature of it. “You’re missing the point,” Remus decided, not wanting to answer with ‘our adoptive daughter’s breasts, of course’! “I’ve been going about this wrong.”

   Flushed with embarrassment, Olivia gave him a reassuring nod. “You’re doing just fine.”

   “See? That’s it! We’ve gone and made this awkward. It shouldn’t be, you know? I don’t want you to feel embarrassed or like you can’t talk about this stuff with us. We have to be open,” Remus decided.

   “And how do we do that?” Olivia asked, still disoriented by the racks on the inside of the store that she knew contained undergarments.

   A slow smile spread over Sirius’ face. “Like this.”

   He made a gallant stride into the store with his hands placed firmly on his hips. It made Olivia giggle, and her and Remus followed behind in what may have actually started to be turning into a good idea. A good, improvised, Marauder idea. Their specialty.

   “Excuse me!” Sirius shouted, alerting the whole store of muggles to his presence—if his flamboyant suit hadn’t done that already, of course. “We are looking to purchase bras!”

   Olivia’s body was racked by laughter. She gave Sirius a little smack, giggling all the way.

   “Come on,” he prompted. It was natural, and a step in life that should be celebrated, Sirius decided. James and Sirius had thrown separate parties when they lost their virginity, and somewhere deep in Sirius he knew Lily had a bra party. He just knew it. “Say it!”

   With a bit of hysterical laughter from Remus in the background, Olivia nodded. “I am in need of a brassiere! Is that even what the full word is? I read that in a book once.”

   A clearly disturbed shop attendant came to them. “The woman’s section is in the back,” she said, trying to corral them away from the entrance and checkout lines chock-full of muggles.

   “To the bras!” Remus shouted, consumed by the insanity of it all.

   Olivia grabbed his hand and Sirius’ before following the attendant. The poor woman really had no idea what she was dealing with. Twelve years of prison for Sirius and misery for Remus really had made them rather shameless in their public dealings.

   Looking over her shoulder occasionally to check that they were there, the woman in the pink shirt finally got them to a maze of shelves and clothes racks. “And who are you two to her, exactly?” the woman asked the couple.

   The three Lupins exchanged a look. “Well,” Olivia tried.

   “It’s rather complicated,” Sirius said smoothly. “We’re a wolf pack, actually...” he trailed off to look at her name tag. “Tanya.”

   “Sirius!” Remus hissed, but the harshness wasn’t even there. He was laughing too hard to give a shit.

   “We are,” Olivia decided. She’d never felt this alive before, oddly enough. Manic excitement shot up through her veins and out of her fingertips. So giddy with happiness and tickled by the humor of it, Olivia felt like she could do anything. “So, you should probably measure me.”

   “Alright then,” Tanya said, clearly suffering in her attempts to take the absurdity in stride. There had been strange customer stories before, but nothing quite like this. A part of her sort of wanted to roll with it and part of her wanted to shove the uncomfortable situation on one of her fellow coworkers. The life of shopkeeps was often complicated like that; being ordinary one day and then meeting someone who allowed you to be extraordinary, even for a moment. At least that was what Mickey told her Rose was doing. “The dressing room is this way.”

   As Tanya led the wolf-pup to a paisley-pink-trimmed room with a curtain for privacy, Remus and Sirius waited for Olivia to turn and look over her shoulder and look at them.

   When she did, they gave her some absolutely classic parental waving and hand motions with smiles wide enough to crack their faces in half.

   Olivia laughed to herself before facing forward again and walking on.

   Oddly enough, it had made Olivia feel much less awkward and embarrassed about the whole thing. Remus and Sirius had made her feel comfortable in a situation that two men could rarely accommodate with comfort. This wasn’t horrible or even cringe-worthy.

   Most importantly, she supposed, it wasn’t a lonely venture with some social worker like it had been for all the other girls before her. It wasn’t a condescending look from an old woman with sharp nails and a measuring tape in the back room of a Good Will and her smoky voice saying, “Welcome to womanhood, sweetheart”.

   “I’m proud,” Sirius decided before taking Remus’ arm in his. “We’re ace at this.”

   “We really are.”

   “You know what I can’t wait for?”

   Her first school dance? Her first date? Her graduation? Her first day at work? Her wedding?

   “What?” Remus asked to humor him.

   “Shopping for pads and tampons. That’s going to be even better.”

   With a laugh, Remus nodded in agreement. It would be a regular family adventure.


	12. The Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve wanted to write a chapter on the people in Azkaban since forever. Also, Ron and Harry’s bromance keeps me alive and well. Hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter 12: The Smile**

   It dawned upon Theo that he had never been inside a cathedral before. Sundays in the Nott family hadn’t included a trip to commune with higher powers.

   The stained-glass windows let in a flood of light that swept across the floor. People were seated in the pews, but every time Theo looked to see their faces, they turned their head away. Not even the religious figures could face Theo from the paintings hung above the lines of candles. It made Theo uneasy. “Hello?” he tried. All he got back was the echo of his voice off of the vaulted and gilded walls.

   The aisle in the middle seemed to glitter golden, too.

   His eyes followed the little tiles in their swirling patterns to the end of the aisle, where the back of a very familiar head caught his eye.

   “Colin,” he called out, walking down the aisle towards him. What in the hell was he wearing?

   Colin’s small frame held up a long, white flowing fabric. From certain angles it looked like a dress, from others it just looked like regular robes.

   When Theo got close enough to touch his shoulder, his hand missed. It was like his boyfriend was more air than person. “Colin?”

   The figure turned on their heels to make eye contact with Theo. Nearly jumping out of his skin, Theo quickly realized that it wasn’t Colin at all. It was Helen, the perfectly nice neighbor from Christmas. “Fuck!” he shouted, lurching back. She was hardly the evil stepmother that Colin’s wild imagination made her out to be, but it was a shock when one’s twenty-something boyfriend turned into an aged woman.

   “Theodore,” she said sweetly like she had the first time they met. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

   “Uh.”

   “I’m going to be your new mother-in-law. You can call me ‘mum’, if you want.”

   “ _Uh_.” Theo took a step back only to realize he was barefoot, and the shimmering tiles were ice-cold. “No, thanks, I’m good without.”

   The golden tiles swirled like snakes up his legs, anchoring him there. “Stay,” Helen requested, putting her hand out to him.

   Theo shook his head before wrenching his feet out of the chains that had curled up around him. “I’ve got to do some other shit,” he said rather eloquently. “As in, not here and not with you.”

   Out of the corner of her mouth sprouted a river of black pus that slowly dripped down her chin. “You have to stay,” she demanded in a voice that didn’t even sound like her own.

   “No!” Theo yelled, but the rest of the tiles flew up from the ground to cover his mouth. Where they had been ripped up, little dirt squares with crawling worms remained. He tried to shout again, but even his eyes were covered.

   His heart raced. Theo had to get out of there, he had to run and never come back—

   “Waffles?”

   “Agh,” Theo let out, flipping onto his back so that his breathing could even out. “Fuck.” Sweat crept down his neck as the image of Helen faded away. At least their fluffy white sheets were cool enough to keep him from overheating.

   “Want waffles for breakfast, hon?”

   “Yeah,” he said quietly, slowly coming to.

   Colin sighed and gave him a kiss on the shoulder. “Another nightmare about that McCain bloke being elected president of the states?” he asked teasingly.

   “That is a very legitimate concern,” Theo laughed before rolling over once again to face Colin in the sheets. Foreign politics has never really been his forte, but something about the United States and its current direction was getting on his last nerve. “He reminds me of Pansy’s grandfather. Old, confused, and still the best the Republican Party has to offer.” The whole party reminded him of Thatcher, too. He’d studied up on her to spite his father and wound up hating her to spite himself, he supposed.

   “You’re ridiculous.” Colin kissed his jawline before hopping out of the bed. Morning people confused and disturbed and confused Theo, and there he was, thinking about marrying one. “Now I’m making waffles.”

   With a nod, Theo sat up and waited for his breakfast. It was a refreshing change to watch someone else brewing a treat.

   Yet, on the other side of the room in a case where Theo kept his spare contacts was the heavy golden ring that he hadn’t done a blessed thing with. Colin didn’t know it was there, and Theo wondered if it should stay that way.

   The recent night terrors involving commitment, ceremonies, and vows had Theo’s head spinning.

   It brought up all of his worst memories of his father and deceased mother to go hand-in-hand with the previous year’s celebration. Draco’s wedding had been the very thing that had brought Colin and he together, while his own parent’s wedding had been a quick and morbid ordeal. Even in her wedding photo with a painted-on smile, he could tell that his mother wasn’t happy.

   Draco and Harry had looked happy, though. So did Colin.

   They’d danced together for every fast and slow song that they could catch. Theo had been surprised at how well he moved with the music even after stuffing his face with delicacies from Latin America, India, China, and Poland alike.

   If Theo somehow did work up the courage or the stupidity to ask Colin to marry him, they wouldn’t have such an expansive banquet. It’d be a course of soup, salad, meat, and cake each. He didn’t have the same flair for the expensive that Draco had, but he did appreciate a decent meal.

   A slippery slope of weddings thoughts had Theo’s mind careening out of his control.

   At his wedding, there would be strands of paper lanterns. The reception would be outdoors, so that everything white could contrast off of the dark night sky. They’d count the stars together; Theo just knew it.

   There would be Calla Lilies and white roses, and Theo would put one in his husband’s soft blonde hair. Maybe they could even wear crowns of flowers. They deserved to have a day of complete attention and regality, no?

   And they’d ride away in a chariot, drawn by horses. Draco would piss his pants when he saw the damned creatures, and that was entirely worth it on its own.

   That, and he wanted a chocolate fountain. Not some wimpy small one, but a legitimate garden fountain filled with chocolate.

   “You coming?” Colin hollered from the kitchen. “These are going to be perfectly crispy, I can just feel it.”

   “Yeah, I’m coming.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Harry looked down at the hastily scribbled clue one last time, as if that was going to help him find the rest of Benjy Fenwick’s body. Unsurprisingly, it was no use. He’d not been able to extract a single truth from the paper.

   Aside from a few domestics and petty thefts, Ron and Harry hadn’t seen any other action than the damned case the whole week. It was driving Ron up the wall, and he’d even confided in Hermione about the hint. As clever as his wife was, she was busy with work and pregnancy so her best advice wound up being ‘Go to Remus’.

   They, of course, would go to Remus over Harry’s dead body.

   From the second Ron had brought it up, he’d been stonewalled (no pun intended) by Harry’s objections.

  _‘Remus has been through too much already’, ‘He wouldn’t want to remember this time’_ …

   “He’s busy with Olivia, too,” Harry finally said out loud. After the blow-out argument that he and Ron had gotten into, Harry felt obligated to break the silence that had descended over his office.

   Still seething, Ron let out a slow, shuddery breath. “She’s a Ravenclaw. If Olivia’s left alone for a few minutes, I don’t think the world will bloody end. Sirius could watch her, too. That’s sort of the benefit of two parents.”

   Harry sighed. “Fine, that was a stupid reason.”

   “All of these are stupid reasons.”

   “Would you want to go through the war again?” Harry snapped. That was what it felt like every time a new article about the whereabouts of muggle bodies that had been hidden for decades were discovered. Remus had been through both of the wizarding wars and nearly lost everything because of them. “What if someone came to you asking about Mad-Eye?”

   Ron gritted his teeth. “Then I would help them,” he said, looking to Harry. “I would want to help them find his body so that there could be a proper funeral and a proper goodbye.”

   “I don’t want to cause Remus any more pain.” That night was a full moon, too.

   After a deep breath, Ron’s expression softened. That was his brother sitting there at the Head Auror desk, sad and out of options. “Harry, I know this is hard, but it’s also our job.”

   “You’re right,” Harry grumbled after a moment, sinking back into his chair. The whole fight had been for naught, and it had even left Harry with a headache. “I’m sorry.”

   “Don’t be. Your heart’s in the right place, yeah?” Ron told him. “And we don’t have to talk to him today or tomorrow. The last thing I’d want is to bother him while he’s already literally torn himself to pieces.”

   Harry nodded even though he didn’t want any of it at all. He never wanted to see that old, weathered look on Remus’ face again, the one he’d worn through all the battles and tribulations.

   He’d gotten to know a happier Remus, one with a husband, a job he loved, and a family. Remus told hilarious jokes, was ever-so-subtly mischievous, and always knew what to say to comfort Harry. How could Harry possibly know what to say back to him?

   “Sorry,” Harry said again lamely. “You’re right. This is our job and I’m letting my emotions get in the way of it.”

   “Hey, I said not to worry about it, okay?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Harry,” Ron said carefully. “Are you doing alright? I mean, is everything going well with your therapist and—“

   A sharp nod cut Ron off. “Yeah, it is. I’m not having the nightmares anymore, and I’ve been a lot less paranoid.” Harry hated when people asked about his therapy. It made him feel even more ashamed for having to have it in the first place. “I just didn’t sleep that well last night.”

   “Draco keep you up by tying you down?”

   Oh, Ron. His attempts at connecting were so misguided, but Harry appreciated them. It wasn’t every day that you got a best friend who was willing to accept you and your strange love life. “We don’t always do that, you know.”

   “So,” Ron said with a grin, leaning forward. “It was just old-fashioned shagging, hm?”

   Harry shook his head.

   A determined look came over Ron’s face. “Then what was it? Er, just like, a blowjob, or—?”

   “ _Ron_!”

   “What?” he asked defensively, as they both tried to hide their ridiculous smiles. “I don’t know what you count as sex. Like, sex-sex.”

   “As opposed to not sex-sex?”

   Ron gave him a look. “You know what I mean!” he said as if it were obvious. Oh, the heteronormativity of it all.

   Harry shook his head again. “I really, really do not.”

   “Okay,” his partner sighed. “So, then I guess I have to ask: what counts as sex? Because I mean it’s pretty easy to know that with a guy and a girl what that is, but what is it for two blokes? Is it just the bum stuff?”

   Slowly, Harry turned his head to show Ron just how far his right eyebrow had flown up. “No, it’s different for everyone.”

   “But if you just wank each other off, is that sex or is it mutual masturbation or—?”

   Harry looked to his Auror partner like he had six heads. “Why do you even want to know? Don’t tell me I’m going to have to break it to Hermione that her husband has some homosexual leanings.”

   “I do not! ‘M just curious! You know, for your sake!”

   “Oh,” Harry put a hand over his heart. “What a caring and wonderful friend you are.”

   “Damn right I am,” Ron muttered.

   “So, as your friend, I am telling you that you do not want to know.”

   Ron shook his head with a stubborn force. “Come on, Harry. It doesn’t gross me out or whatever, so why can’t we just talk about it like a couple of normal men with urges and such?”

   “You have Neville and George for that,” Harry pointed out.

   “Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “They’re not my best mate and you are, you secretive prick. You need somebody to talk about this stuff with. The job has fallen to me. Now, tell me what constitutes sex between two blokes; more specifically, between you and him.” ‘Him’ was better than ‘that prat Malfoy’, and Ron really had come a long way in terms of acceptance.

   “I just define it as when one of us—usually both of us—you know, come.”

   “Oh. Oh, okay.” At least Ron was trying to understand. “Can I ask you something else?”

   “Don’t.”

   “What does it—“ Ron tried to figure out the right wording for this. “—what does it taste like? I mean, I’ll never get to know, so it’s probably important that you tell me.”

   Harry’s eyes were saucers. “ _Ron_. Think about what you’re asking.”

   Suddenly, he pulled another strange face. “You’re right. I really don’t want to think about Draco’s come. I’ll just ask Hermione, then.”

   Oh, that would take years to scrub out of Harry’s memory. “That’s what I thought! Moving on…”

   “Yes, moving on, we’ll go to Grimmauld Place this weekend and hopefully this will be done before we even know it,” Ron nodded, eager for a change of subject.

   Harry knew it was for the best in the end. At least, that was what he hoped was the best. “That gives us four days, then.”

   “Four days for what? Patrolling?” he asked. Sure, there was the sense of importance when two Aurors walked the streets to see the public, but not all of their followers were particularly kind or adoring

   He shook his head. “For interrogation.” Kingsley had been right about the number potential witnesses already in custody at Azkaban.

   Once someone got Draco talking about how Azkaban used to be run, it was hard to get him to stop. He would rant and rave about the blatant disregard for human rights the prison had. After a short stay there, Draco could see his own father fray at the edges. Dementors were a form of psychological torture, Draco said, and that fell under the ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ label.

   Harry couldn’t help but agree.

   Sirius had been the victim of an unfair justice system and then a victim of an even worse prison system, and Harry saw what that had done to him. The memory of him entering the Shrieking Shack with wild eyes, untamed hair, and rotten teeth still shook Harry to the core.

   The dementors caused everything from psychotic breaks to severe depression in the most mild of cases of prisoners being around them for so long, which was exactly why Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt had outlawed their use.

   As he gathered his things and led Ron to the fireplace, Harry took confidence in the fact that the Death Eaters he had sent there were mentally sound enough to answer some questions. They had a lot of explaining to do.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Whispers floated from cell to cell. The boy hero, returned to spite them?

   Walden Macnair grabbed the scrap of cloth he’d saved to pass messages back and forth. For the promise of money, he knew which guards could pass notes for the promise of money or secrets.

   The charcoal he’d pried from the wall was set to good use, scratching out a message. _Is it true?_

   He’d pass it along during lunch, when the prisoners were allowed to eat together in silence. It was yet another feature of the ‘new and improved’ Azkaban, along with a yard to get exercise in. When the Minister saw that prisoners had gone into muscular atrophy from lack of movement, the reforms came at lightning speed.

   Exercise, better meals, no dementors… The list went on. It had made Azkaban slightly more bearable for the former servants of the Dark Lord, but the fact that they were stuck on the island until their dead bodies were hauled off to unmarked graves was omnipresent.

   Nobody would mourn them, and nobody would probably get passed the ‘Death Eater’ bit in their obituaries before giving an approving whoop or shout.

   _Maybe_ , Macnair thought. _I’ll die before Lucius and Narcissa do._

They were the only chance of anyone showing up at his grave, and they were a slim chance. For that, he hated them.

   He hated that since their son was fucking The Chosen One that they had gotten out of jail. Sure, their relationship technically started three years after Harry defended the Malfoy family in court, but those two pillowbiters probably had the hots for each other for much longer and much earlier than that.

   That was the reason Draco had betrayed them, wasn’t it?

   The Potters seemed to have a way of inspiring unwavering loyalty. Severus had gone against the most powerful wizard in the world for a Potter, and now Draco was married to one. If Severus were alive, he would have probably killed himself out of the pure irony of it all.

   Oh, Macnair could see it so clearly.

   That little blondie gussied up in some designer robes, hands on his hips. ‘ _Just because Lily Potter never loved you doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t love me’_!

   Snape would most likely become enraged and hex the little twink. It was a fun thought to have while Macnair was all alone in his cell, not having killed or seen anything wriggle in pain for years. He sorely missed it.

   “Up,” the guard said, the harsh outline of his face looking even more severe in the low lights of Azkaban. “Lunch.”

   Was it that time already? How long had he been staring at his note?

   Macnair scraped himself up off of the cold floor and stretched out his hands. Seven years later and serving a life sentence, he’d gotten used to the ins and outs of being handcuffed wherever he went.

   The metal closed around his wrists, which would stop him from casting any wandless spells if he even could still cast spells. The lack of practice had left Macnair to feel the magic within him run stagnant. Out of practice and out of luck, he doubted if he really could cast any spells anymore.

   After a tangled mess of halls that Macnair had never bothered to memorize, the mess hall with the Muffliato charm in place came into view.

   The prisoners were let in alphabetical order as they were stored in their cells.

   Jugson and Goyle were already seated at their own table, secluded from the rest of the prisoners. Death Eaters got a rather… Special treatment at Azkaban. The other inmates, just like the rest of the word, completely despised them.

   The newly-appointed guards had to keep the Death Eaters from running away while they also had to keep them alive, unbeaten, and unviolated.

   Rabastan Lestrange gave Macnair the usual nod of acknowledgement. A world of silence got to Rabastan most of all. He was a talkative little fuck in his cell just to get his hours of free speech in.

   After the guard noticed one of the circles of neo-Death Eaters at another table trying to sign something out, he bounded over to put an end to it.

   Those kids were a ridiculous bunch. They worshipped the ground that the original Death Eaters walked on, but could barely hold their own in a prison yard fight. Macnair thought they were just a bunch of chickenshit kids who didn’t understand what it meant to be on the losing side of a war.

   When the man who always came after Macnair sat beside him, he passed the note under the table. It was a risky move, but the man grabbed it and shoved the note inside his Ministry-issued shoes.

   The rest of their small table filled with every Death Eater from the Carrows to Yaxley.

   A gruff-looking woman spat at their table as she made her way to her usual table. This woman, who Macnair had begun to cruelly call ‘Cinderfella’, spat at them every day. Sometimes, he thought about how much saliva she must have lost due to that. Gallons over the years, probably.

   The silence was more tense than usual.

   Under the table, the man who Macnair had passed the note, carefully unfolded it.

   _Is it true?_

   The man passed it to Mulciber Jr., who had been seething from the minute he walked in. Mulciber was never a joyous man, but this was different. His jaw was clamped tight enough to break his skull.

   With dark, solemn eyes, he looked up and nodded. If Alecto could have audibly gasped, it would have echoed off of the short and thick prison walls. She grabbed her plastic fork and went to work carving out a message in her bread.

   Meanwhile, Mulciber made the universal sign they’d all come to know to mean ‘Potter’. The one who’d locked them up, who’d ruined their plans for a pure future. It didn’t matter which Death Eaters recanted their previous belief systems in jail, because they were still in the same damned boat.

   Mulciber traced a lightning bolt on his forehead and was met with shock and disdain by his peers for the news he was delivering.

   Finally, Alecto looked over both shoulders and passed her bread under the table. The tattoo on her left wrist had become an ugly, faded scar. She hated to look at it, especially when everyone was staring at her. Sure, they had the same skin issue, but she was self-conscious. Her and her brother used to run an entire school, and power had been everything to her.

    When Mulciber received her note, he realized this would be a difficult one to answer with hand signs alone.

   _What did he want?_

Alecto passed over her slice of bologna for Mulciber to write on. Without wasting a second, he wrote down a single word and slid it around the table so everyone could see.

_Fenwick._

   Confused, Alecto looked to her brother, then to Umbridge. Even they didn’t seem to know who that was, and Dolores always knew about outside news before anyone else. She’d been the one who’d passed around the note of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy’s wedding. Rowle had been so angry he’d gone on a hunger strike.

   Obviously, the strike had no effect on the real world and was not even picked up on by the press. After the third day, he gave in and ate his creamed corn.

   Selwyn and Crabbe even looked at a loss. The fact that they were the oldest Death Eaters really did not help, either.

   In truth, there was one man at that table who knew exactly what ickle Harry Potter must’ve been rooting around for. It was awfully hard to accept death when a body was mutilated and left in pieces, he supposed.

   One by one, they all turned to him and for the first time since his imprisonment, Marcus Nott smiled.


	13. The Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Supreet’s dad, because she asked for this and she listened to me make at least 50 Mean Girls references when talking about the table of Death Eaters at Azkaban. Some of my shining moments: “That is the fugliest prison tat I’ve ever seen.” “YOU CAN’T SIT HERE” and “Of course I couldn’t invite a mudblood to my cell, there would be purebloods there in their prison jumpers!” I’m a loser and a white girl.

**Chapter 13: The Worst**

   Could panic attacks stem from boredom?

   If so, Harry Potter was in the throes of one. “No. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t read! The words are blurring together, Draco. I think I’m going blind.”

   “You already are blind,” Draco laughed, stealing Harry’s glasses. “And you’re the one that wanted this, you know.”

   A mangled whine escaped Harry. It had been his idea to expand the pool of women to choose from, and Lucius was ready to kill him for it. If he pleased one Malfoy, he’d forsake another, so he picked Draco to please. That didn’t mean he was all sunshine and rainbows, though.

   “Now I actually cannot read,” Harry told him, relieved. If it took smashing his glasses to bits, he would do anything to get out of this.

   At first it had been fun. They’d narrowed down the mother’s age and location to wind up with a thousand applicants, so they got to comb through all the pregnant women of London. Some of the testimonials as to why there were giving up their child were funny, some sad, and some both. But five-hundred women later, Harry’s head was spinning.

   They’d taken the day off from work together just to do this, and they had dove in from the moment they woke up. Harry would only suffer one day of this hell.

   “Want to take a lunch break?” Draco sighed, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

   Without even answering, Harry sprung off of the couch and to the kitchen. Draco simply rolled his eyes fondly and followed.

   “Ice cream,” Draco decided. “We’re eating ice cream now.”

   “I am not even going to try and argue with that.” Harry grabbed two bowls and spoons from the cabinets while Draco grabbed the cookie dough ice cream from the fridge.

   When they returned to the couch with their meal—because they were grown adults who could eat whatever they wanted any time they wanted—Draco grabbed another file. “So,” he said, spooning the cold treat into his mouth. “What do you think of Camila Rosa?”

   “I think nothing of her; I cannot see her.”

   Draco sighed and removed Harry’s glasses. Carefully, he turned to face his husband and guide the metal over Harry’s ears. Salazar, he loved those glasses. “And now?”

   Harry looked down at the file and forced his head to stop swimming. “Erm. She’s pretty, and she’s on prenatal vitamins.”

   “And?”

   “’And’ what? I don’t even know what we’re looking for anymore,” Harry sighed.

   With a sigh, Draco knew just what to do. He tossed the file into the reject pile for no real reason, and put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Let me rub your back.”

   Harry’s eyes fluttered shut immediately and he angled himself so that Draco could get right to the tension below his neck. “Mm.”

   “That good?” Draco asked, even though he knew he was bloody brilliant at this. He swore he could find the tight spots in seconds.

   A content noise escaped Harry. “The best.”

   “Oh? I’m flattered.”

   Draco’s thumb dug in circles along the side of Harry’s spine and moved slowly downward. The circles made the fabric of his shirt bunch up under Draco’s hands, but neither of them really minded. They had found a moment of peace in a storm of women and their babies.

   As much as Draco and Harry appreciated and respected the opposite sex, it was nice to be one another.

   “Love you,” Harry reminded him.

   With a little laugh, Draco ran his hands down Harry’s arms. “I love you too.” Their hands tangled together in a mess of fingers and warmth. Draco wondered what cuddling with Harry and the baby would be like. The more Draco thought about it, the more he fell in love with the idea of a tiny person wriggling around in his arms.

   As if Harry could read his mind, he launched into a much less stressful topic. “Enough about the biological mother. Let’s talk names.”

   “Do you have any in mind?”

   “Hm,” Harry went deep into the vaults of his memory. “I was thinking about naming them after my parents, or different people who lost their lives in the war.”

   Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “ _What_?”

   “What? You don’t want that?”

   “No, I mean,” he tried. “It’s just a bit strange, you know?”

   “How so?” Harry asked. He’d always wanted a little James and a little Lily.

   “Well, to start off with, your parents were married and in love. It’s rather Walburga and Orion to name siblings after them,” Draco murmured.

   Harry turned around and gave him an incredulous look. “Draco!”

   “Well, the kids won’t be technically related! We don’t need to encourage them any more than they already are!”

   “That’s disgusting,” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “And the first rule of the house. No dating your siblings.” It would be far too emotionally scarring to watch, and Harry sort of figured it ruined the family dynamic. “What names did you have in mind?”

   Draco shrugged. His father would want them to name the kids after constellations, so that was out of the question entirely. “If it was a boy? Hm… I like Evan, Maxwell, Parker, Chase, and Augustus.”

   It took Harry a second to process that. “So you want a bunch of polo-wearing, snobby literature-obsessed jocks?”

   “They’re unique names with popular connotations,” Draco sighed.

   “They’re rich kid names.”

   “They’re going to be rich children, yeah!” he grinned, amused by Harry’s need for humble names. “Would you prefer ‘Pauper’ or ‘John’?”

   Harry shook his head. “Something in the middle. A name that is interesting and singular enough to be unique, but nothing pretentious. Maybe… Aiden, or Matthew.”

   “I like Aiden.”

   That made Harry smile. “Yeah.” He could see little Aiden Malfoy-Potter running around in the back yard, chasing a sprite or a butterfly. Then, Draco would pick him up and rest his little legs on the side of his hip and ruffle his dark, curly hair. It made Harry feel slightly hypocritical to imagine their children would look like them, too. “I mean, do you love it?”

   “What?”

   “The name.”

   Draco nodded. “Yeah,” he said again, a smile flickering over his face. “We could have a little Aiden.”

   It made Harry happy enough to turn around completely and rest their chests together. Still smiling like an idiot, he pinned a wisp of blonde hair behind Draco’s ear. There was a sort of glow about Draco that afternoon, and it made Harry want to kiss him.

   So, he did.

   Harry’s breath tickled Draco’s cheek before his lips came down to give him a kiss. There was fine stubble there from where Draco hadn’t shaved that morning, which only encouraged Harry to kiss every inch of his face.

   Draco let his eyes flutter shut so that Harry could kiss them, too. “You’re beautiful,” Harry said against his skin.

   “Tell me more,” Draco snickered before finally letting their lips meet in the middle. It was sweet enough to make Harry forget about his short and ultimately futile trip to Azkaban. They’d only been able to interview two Death Eaters, who had screamed slurs at him the entire time.

   More than willing to feed into Draco’s narcissism, Harry slid his hands up Draco’s shirt to paw at his sides. “Take everything off, then. I need to see what I’m complimenting.”

   Reaching over his head, Draco tugged his shirt off. It was graceless and messy since Harry had him practically pinned to the couch, but every inch of skin revealed more than made up for that.

   Harry kissed his sternum while he slid Draco out of his sweatpants. He really did love mutual fake sick days. “You’re not even wearing pants,” Harry laughed. That sexy bastard. He’d known that they would shag all along.

   “More for you to compliment,” Draco shrugged. “Now let me hear it.”

   “You’re so full of it,” Harry laughed before kissing away any protests. “I’ll start at the top, though. Your hair…”

   “Is like spun gold? Like platinum silk?”

   Harry stuck his hand right in Draco’s hair and ruffled it up. “I love it when it’s wild. I know you try and tame it, but nothing’s better than your sex hair,” he began with a kiss to the crown of Draco’s head.

   “Which leads us down to your eyes.” Harry said all of this while pressed up against Draco’s temple. “And those long, lovely lashes that surround them. Have you ever seen your own eyes when you smile? Not just like a ‘that was funny’ smile or a polite smile, I mean a huge, real smile. They look like diamonds.”

   That, unironically enough, made Draco smile a huge, real smile.

   Harry gave Draco’s nose a little bop. “And I love your nose, no matter how much you tell me it’s too big. I like the little bump in the middle, and I think it really suits you.”

   “Now you’re just lying,” said Draco.

   “I would never,” Harry said, acting incredibly offended. “Here, let’s go with something you already believe: Your lips are divine. After we snog they’re red and puffy, and they never fail to look delicious. Not ever.”

   Draco most definitely agreed with that. When Harry kissed him again, he made a point of dragging his lower lip across Harry’s teeth.

   As Harry sank down to murmur tender praises to Draco’s neck, Draco thought for the hundredth time that year alone that he had to be the happiest man alive. Draco also thought that was sort of owed to him, after the war that nearly tore his family apart, a tumultuous coming out, press scrutiny, and being caught in between his father and his husband on just about every issue.

   “And your shoulders,” Harry continued, pressing his palms flat against them. “They were made to wear robes and cloaks.”

   “I’ve often been called ‘princely’,” Draco nodded before getting a nip from Harry on the collarbone.

   A laugh from Harry created a warm burst of air against Draco’s chest. “Of course, your highness.” It was interesting, how nicknames for Draco were always regal. Prince, Sir, his highness, and of course: The Best Shag in the Whole World.

   Harry’s, on the other hand, were always animalistic. He was pet, lion cub, tiger, and everything under the sun to do with horndogs.

   After a brief yet wonderful moment that Harry spent worshipping the dip of Draco’s stomach, the compliments came in rapid fire.

   “Your arse is fucking brilliant.” Harry reached under him to grasp it in his hands. The mounds were firm, especially when Draco ground down to give Harry the full experience. “Your legs are long enough to throw over my shoulders, too.”

   To prove it, Draco linked his ankles around Harry’s neck.

   “’M gonna shag you now,” Harry decided a little breathlessly.

   He reached behind the couch cushion to grab the bottle of lubricant they’d stuck there from the last time they’d shagged in the living room. Soon, their new home would become like their old flat: littered with stray sex toys, lost and half-empty bottles of massage oil, and enough lubricant to coat all of London in a goopy mess of flavors and sensations.

   Draco nodded and gripped at Harry’s now-hard prick. “Let me,” he said.

   Curious, Harry handed him the bottle. Draco’s hand squeezed around the bottle to get a dollop out onto his free hand before moving that one back down to Harry’s cock.

   “Don’t you want to…?” Harry asked, smearing some lube on his own fingers—Merlin, that sensation was needed after hours of numbing boredom—so he could slip one inside Draco.

   “Don’t bother,” Draco growled. “You—You gorgeous bastard.”

   Harry chuckled. “Someone’s got a soft spot for being pampered.”

   “Someone else needs to shut up and stick his cock in me.”

   Another laugh escaped Harry before it abruptly changed to a moan, Draco having taken it upon himself to yank Harry closer and guide the head of his member past his taut rings of unstretched muscles.

   “ _Fuck_ ,” Draco gasped, biting his lower lip in a swirl of pleasure and pain that made his cheeks flush.

   Without needing any further instructions, Harry eased the rest of himself into that sweet hole with a commanding push. It would be unfair if he didn’t rough Draco up like Draco roughed him up.

   And that was what relationships are about: fairness and sex.

   Impatiently, Draco shoved his hips up so that he could get some of the latter.

   Harry’s hands found their purchase in creating that sex hair of Draco’s he loved so much with they sunk to grasp the roots and meet his thrust. “Draco,” he groaned. He would take this slow on purpose, draw out every second of that beautiful look on Draco’s face.

   His eyes were screwed tight, his nose bunched up in the way it usually did right before he came. “Harder, faster,” he begged. Anything to have Harry hit that spot again and again, forcing him to choke out each sob of joy.

   Harry’s tight yet slow pumps continued. “But you look so pretty like this,” he objected, craning down to watch his length slide in and out of Draco.

   Between moans and growls of frustration, Draco found some time to speak. “You mean,” he panted. “I’m not pretty all the time? I ought to spank you for that one.”

   “Go right on ahead,” Harry grunted. His whole body went from warm and loose to a tantalizing quiver when Draco clenched around him. “I’m going to guess that’s another request for harder?”

   “And faster,” Draco answered excitedly, spreading his legs wider for Harry.

   Harry’s pace did a total one-eighty. He barreled into Draco and dug his nails into his back so that each pump of his hips pushed his cock deeper and deeper.

   “Yes,” Draco gasped out, riding on the high and thrusting right back.

   Their bodies collided in a crescendo of heat, and Harry had to shut his eyes just to release some of the tension. The tightness in his shoulders was always the worst right before he came.

   Opening his eyes long enough to look into Draco’s grey ones, pupils wide with mischief and excitement, Harry did just that.

   The sense of tranquility was corporeal in a way that Harry could feel it in his bones. They seemed to uncoil and hiss as he lay on top of Draco, a sticky mess of their come in between them.

   Draco smiled down at Harry. His love, his pet, his lion cub—he was happy.

   For the sake of continuity, Draco shut his eyes and tried to imagine the moment if they were both parents. Their baby would be asleep in the other room, and they may even cry out for them.

   He could see Harry bolting up in spite of his current state of borderline muscle paralysis and grabbing a towel, a blanket, a jacket, anything to get himself clean before running up the stairs to the nursery.

   Harry would hold their baby tight to his chest.

   The thought of how small the kid would look in comparison to his big, strong Auror. Sure, Harry was short, but he still seemed larger than life sometimes.

   “Mm,” Harry mumbled under him. He’d never intended it to come out as a word, so he was happy with the results.

   “Darling,” Draco said affectionately, without having intended to finish the sentence.

   Harry responded with another happy noise. The eloquent conversation really was wearing on his state of mind.

   The only solution seemed to be sleep, which Harry willingly gave into. Draco didn’t mind, of course, since a nap would at least shake up their selection process.

   He’d give Harry an hour to rest before jarring him awake to look at more files.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   He panted wildly. They’d done it. They’d really done it.

   It was four in the morning, there were three trash cans being used for the discarded files, plates with half-eaten cookies and crackers strewn across the room, empty wine glasses, and general debris everywhere. None of that mattered, though, because they were _done_.

   “Fifty,” Draco declared proudly.

   “Fifty,” Harry echoed exhaustedly.

   Draco kissed his cheek. “Now we just call and schedule meetings. The worst is behind us.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Harry was going to fall asleep on the floor of Azkaban, he really was. “Who’s next?” he asked Ron. The question gave him a serious sense of déjà vu from the previous evening.

   The next words to leave Ron’s mouth were hateful ones. “Dolores Umbridge.”

   “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

   “Do you want to sit this one out?” Ron asked carefully. Harry was the walking dead in terms of helpfulness that day. He was just so… Tired. “Did Draco keep you up again?”

   “Yes,” he muttered miserably.

   “Was it that bad?” Ron asked. Harry usually bragged about his wonderful love life.

   A little laugh left Harry. “No, it wasn’t sex. We were picking out pregnant women we could adopt from.”

   Well, that was much less sensual. “Oh,” he said. “Still. You look beat, and I could honestly handle this one.” His wife had been the one to leave Umbridge at the mercy of the centaurs, so the old Headmistress already had reason not to mess with the Weasley-Granger family.

   “No, no, you got Selwyn.” For many reasons, Harry preferred to stay away from him. “I’ll interview her and get it over with.”

   Ron nodded, knowing better than to argue with Harry when he was feeling stubborn. “Let’s just get in and get out, yeah?”

   “Yeah.”

   Harry descended into the Azkaban interrogation cell with a purpose. “Dolores Umbridge,” he said curtly as if she hadn’t forced him to write his rule-breaking habits hard enough to draw blood. A faint scar still lingered there, but the words were blurred. _I must not tell lies_. “How’s your stay here been?” Okay, that one he couldn’t hold back because he was punchy.

   Her usually primly trussed hair was below her shoulders in length without a single curl to be found. Oh, sweet, sweet justice. “Potter,” she said, taken aback. Apparently, jail had robbed her of her quick wits. However, she made up for it in a few sad seconds. “I’ve been doing splendidly. Tell me, I may be on a leash by the Ministry, but what is it like to be on Draco Malfoy’s leash?”

   “It’s Malfoy-Potter now, actually.”

   That made her pureblood cheeks turn rosy red with anger. “You—“ Umbridge started, all of the insults and slurs she wanted to throw at him getting clogged up at her pursed lips. Those lips would never order another student or teacher around again. “You immature, vile, loathsome—“

   “Enough about me,” Harry cut her off. “I want to hear about you.”

   “I know why you’re here,” she snarled. Her eyes looked different without mascara and a pound of eyeshadow; they looked sallower. “It’s about one of your Dumbledore’s Army friends.”

   Harry put down the last picture taken of Benjy Fenwick on the table. He was sitting at a table and looking down at a piece of paper, scribbling intermittently, and looking back up. Apparently, Dorcas Meadowes had been trying to get him to smile after a night of reading through cyphered Death Note papers to no avail.

   Kingsley said he’d remembered that night as a particularly gloomy one.

   “He was in the first order. Do you know his name?” Harry asked patiently. He knew he had to play mind-games to get through to the madwoman.

   Umbridge caught on quickly, a mischievous smile overtaking her flat, pale face. “I think it was… Bryan? Bryan Freidman?”

   “Try again.”

   “Brendon Finlay.”

   “That’s sort of closer.”

   “Balon Fennec?”

   “I’m pretty sure that is a breed of fox.”

   “Byron Fellatio?”

   Harry narrowed his eyes. “Benjamin Fenwick.”

   “Ah!” The bags under Umbridge’s eyes lit up with wonder. “That’s the one. Pity,” she said, using her plain and chipped nails to bring the photo closer to her. “He was a real charmer back in school. I always thought Regulus had an ickle crush on him.”

   “What?”

   Dolores Umbridge looked at him as if he were some sort of alien. “Don’t you know? Queer runs in the Black family. It’s undoubtedly Sirius’ fault, too. Probably got too close to him one night under the blankets, made Regulus pretend he liked it—“

   “Stop it,” Harry snapped, losing his momentary cool.

   “Oh, you are a naïve one. _Incest_ also ran in the Black family,” she chirped. Umbridge hadn’t had a stimulating conversation like this in years.

   “Shut up. You don’t know anything about Sirius, or Regulus, or even Remus for that matter,” he barreled on. “And this isn’t about them.”

   There was a reason Harry never talked about Regulus with Sirius. His godfather was plagued with guilt for the way his brother died. In Sirius’ mind, he had let Regulus stay in that abusive house, so he was responsible for his becoming a Death Eater.

   Remus always tried to talk him down from that, but it rarely worked. Avoiding the subject of brothers altogether seemed like the only thing that would do.

   “What? I make one innocent joke and you’re already done with me?” she asked, disappointed. If Dolores were any younger, she would have tried a pout.

   It was hardly innocent, but Harry knew better than to scream at her for it. Harry would just work it out later in therapy. Maybe that would be the title of his biography: Later, In Therapy.

   “So you knew Benjy Fenwick?” Harry asked.

   “Three years below me. Why, has something terrible happened to him?” Dolores asked with a mock-concern.

   Harry pressed on. “We’re looking for his body. Pieces of it, specifically.”

   “Someone cut him up?” She made a ‘tsk tsk’ noise with her tongue and teeth.

   “Yes. Have any idea who that ‘someone’ is?”

   “What can you give me in return?” Umbridge demanded. “You can’t get something for nothing.”

   “I’m not a lawyer, and unless you’ve forgotten, your stay here is not negotiable.” The Ministry had been sure to lock them up for good this time.

   “That doesn’t mean you can’t make my stay a little… Comfier.”

   Harry shook his head and turned to the two-way mirror that Ron was peering in on from outside the cold, grey interrogation room. “She’s got nothing, Ron. Bring in the next one.” A little negative prodding wasn’t an illegal interrogation tactic, after all.

   “You’re bluffing,” Umbridge called out.

   To show her that he was serious, Harry moved towards the door. “Goodbye, Dolores.”

   “Wait!”

   Hook, line, and sinker. Harry thought she would be tougher to crack, really. Prison seemed to have dulled her senses. “What?” he asked, annoyed.

   “I’ll tell you who knows something about the body if you give me one thing in exchange,” she said. “One, simple thing.”

   “What?” Harry asked again. Pretending to be bothered by her really wasn’t that hard.

   “I heard,” Dolores murmured carefully. The woman was proud at best and vain at worst. “That there’s a portrait of me in the dungeons of Hogwarts that the students… Deface. I want it taken down.”

   “It’s as good as done if you point me in the right direction.” Harry figured it was minor enough, and they could always find another portrait of another war criminal.

   Shifting in her chair, Umbridge considered telling Harry to keep quiet about her to the other prisoners. They were already the desolates of the desolates. “If you’re looking for answers, Marcus Nott has them.”

   “Nott?” Had he heard right? Like, Theodore Nott? Like, the foulmouthed Potioneer that had fucked at least half of the male population of the world until a muggleborn shacked up with him?

   “Nott.”

   Harry swallowed down his shock, trying to keep his brave face. “Well. Your portrait will be down by morning.”

   Oddly enough, Umbridge knew he wasn’t lying.


	14. Heirs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have AP tests this week. I am no longer alive inside. All I know is US history. All I know is Reaganomics suck. Thanks for dealing with my longer bouts between chapters, everyone.

**Chapter 14: Heirs**

   Telephones were slowly making more and more sense to Draco Malfoy-Potter with each call he made. There were clear numbers and buttons and things to do that almost made muggles seem like the smart ones.

   “Hello?” the girl on the other end of the line answered. Being muggleborn had made her adept with a cellphone.

   “Hello, is this Jordan Vora?”

   She ducked into her room, ignoring the suspicious stare from her mother. Sheesh, one accidental pregnancy and the woman didn’t even trust her anymore. “Yes, it is. Who’s asking?”

   “Well,” Draco said with a little laugh. Two girls before her had been so shocked that they accidentally hung up on him when he told them the truth, and all of them had quite literally squealed with delight. Even Burbage.

   Draco would never understand why Harry was so set on giving her a chance. She was rude, loud, and immature. Then again, that was probably what had gotten her pregnant in the first place. “This may come as a shock, but I’m Draco Malfoy-Potter.”

   Jordan laughed. “Oh, come off it, Shaun. When can I see you again?” That Shaun was always a joker. Jordan vaguely remembered a joke of his getting her into bed with him. She loved funny blokes.

   “This isn’t Shaun,” Draco said slowly.

   “No,” Jordan replied, a little shake coming to her hands. “This is my boyfriend pulling a prank on me.”

   “This is Draco Malfoy-Potter.”

   “ _What_?”

   Draco grinned. “I’ve received your application for an adoptive couple and I’d like to meet with you. Is Thursday at 2:00pm alright?” It would have to be, since girls were already scheduled for Thursday at 1:00pm and 3:00pm.

   “Oh my—Yes. Yes—Mum! Mum I’m on the phone!—I can do that,” she sputtered out.

   “We’ve reserved a meeting room at The Halkin, and you can bring your mother or any family you like. My husband and I just wish to speak with you, and we are speaking with many young women like yourself.”

   Jordan grabbed her wand to scribble down the hotel name on a nearby piece of paper. She would have to find someone to cover her shift at the store. Merlin, when they heard about this, they wouldn’t even believe her! “Thank you,” she said, feeling like her life had been saved by some deus ex machina. Now she and Shaun wouldn’t have to quit their jobs for a baby, and maybe she could move out of her mum’s place! “I don’t even know how to thank you. This is wonderful.”

   Shit. The poor thing sounded on the verge of tears. “We haven’t made our decision yet as to who we’re selecting,” Draco clarified, not wanting to get her hopes up. “Just tell the clerk that you’re there for the Seaside Meeting Room and then we’ll talk, okay?”

   “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you—“

   “We’ll talk,” Draco said again. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

   Jordan didn’t seem to understand his intonation. “Thank you!” she shouted again before hanging up. She had to call Shaun to celebrate.

   “Ugh,” Draco muttered once he heard the other end of the line go dead. “Please tell me that was the last one.” Going in alphabetical order had been actual torture.

   “Last one,” Theo confirmed from his bed. He was sprawled out and twisting the accursed ring in his fingers, as he was apt to do of late. “All your baby mamas are accounted for, and I think you’ve properly learned how to dial a number.”

   Draco looked down at Theo’s bulky home phone. “Dial?” he asked, confused.

   “It’s a muggle expression. You have a phone at home, you know.” Draco suddenly appearing after they were both done with work wasn’t a rare occurrence, but he hadn’t even dragged along his better half. They were supposed to be dealing with the baby stuff together, right?

   “I don’t have a Theo at home,” Draco reminded him. “And the one I keep here is amidst a crisis.”

   “You have a Harry at home, and he’s usually not amidst crisis, so I’d imagine that’s preferable. Where is that cheeky little bugger?” Theo asked, neatly skirting around his own problem.

   Draco shrugged. “Saving the world, I suppose.”

   “Any shocking cases of intrigue? I was hoping for a happy-ending massage parlor bust this week.” His addiction to drama was insatiable, and he had his suspicions about the ‘Healing Touch’ spa near Colin’s studio.

   “I wish! How interesting would that be?” Draco laughed. “But it’s just some cold case from the first war. Remus and Sirius were apparently friends of the victim, too.”

   Theo frowned. That sounded heavy and hardly as scandalous as sex trafficking. “Oh. Is he alright with that?”

   “Yeah,” he answered quickly. Well, they hadn’t really talked about it… “Harry’s doing a lot better than he was before the wedding. He’s calmer, and he hasn’t had a panic attack since.” It hadn’t occurred to Draco that Harry being assigned to a war case could backpedal on their progress.

   “Good.”

   “You’ve just listened to me call women for—how long now?—an hour. I can’t believe I’m saying this: Enough about me. Talk at me,” Draco requested. Being a friend was tough work.

   Before Theo could open his mouth to attempt articulating his current state of confusion with marriage, weddings, rings, and other things, an owl was heard scratching at Theo’s window. “Oh, fuck.”

   Theodore stomped over to the window, and it was right when he had something on the tip of his tongue! It had better be Colin with some kind of dirty talk or sexy surprise. Really, it would be one of the only things that could cheer him up.

   “It’s for you,” Theo sighed when he saw the handwriting.

   “From who?”

   Theo tossed him the sealed envelope and shooed the tawny owl away. “Your wife.”

   “Ah,” Draco nodded, ripping open the paper to see what was written inside. When he had absorbed every word into his skin with a silent awe, Draco had to read them over again.

   Watching Draco’s facial expression vigilantly was a talent of Theo’s. “What’s wrong now?” he asked when he saw Draco’s face fall.

   “Nothing. It’s—um, I’ve got to go, okay?” He stood. “Everything’s fine, don’t look so goddamn concerned.”

   “Yes, heaven help me for thinking you flitting off into the night to be concerning. At least tell me what’s going on.”

   “Hermione,” Draco lied quickly. Er, what exactly would constitute Harry writing a letter and Hermione needing assistance? If anything, Draco probably needed assistance from her. “Her baby!” Ah, yes, that was it. “Not the one she’s pregnant with. The other one. Rose.”

   Theo wasn’t buying it. “You’re a shit liar.”

   “Look, you’ll know soon enough, okay? I just—I have to go talk to Harry.” This would kill Theo. Draco just knew it.

   Further confusing the other Slytherin, Draco took him by the shoulders and did the unthinkable. He gave him a firm, tight hug. Just sort of standing there, Theo looked down at his friend’s downy blonde hair. It sort of scared him. “Draco.”

   “Shut up,” Draco muttered against his shoulder before getting on his tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

   “Er.”

   Holding back another hug and kiss and every other little scrap of affection that Theo and he had been deprived of as children and that Harry had taught him meant that you cared, Draco stepped back. “I’ll be back.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   When Harry heard the familiar crack of apparation, he turned around. Also gracing the Malfoy-Potter kitchen was Ron Weasley—who was busy digging into Draco’s bowl of fresh fruits—who appreciated Harry’s effort, but wished they weren’t doing this.

   “Draco,” Harry said as he embraced Draco and kissed his cheek. “You got the letter?”

   “You can’t do it. Harry, it’s fucking cruel and unnecessary and Remus can help you with the clues,” he started right off of the bat. “I know that’s also cruel, but it doesn’t even begin to compare.”

   Harry frowned. The distress in Draco’s voice was obvious, and Harry knew it was for good reason.

   He’d tried every tactic he’d learned at the Auror Academy and then some on Marcus Nott. Negative prodding, positive prodding, bartering, intimidation, controlled fear, throwing Ron in there to do whatever it was that he did, and Harry had to stop himself short of torture.

_“I watched when they chopped up Order runt,” he said proudly. Sure, Marcus might have thrown in a few of his own hexes during the torture, but admitting that certainly wasn’t going to do his lifetime sentence any good. That, and Potter looked on the verge of hexing him, too._

_Harry thought a killing curse would have been the cause of death, and the mutilation a sick game. He’d never thought that Benjy could have been alive, awake, during—_

_“I can tell you everywhere he’s buried.”_

_“Then do it,” Harry demanded._

_“I will.” The pause that came afterwards was a nail-biter. “Once you bring me my heir.”_

   Obviously, Harry had told him ‘no way in hell’ before continuing on with the interrogation, but Nott Sr. remained silent.

   Not a single question was answered after that. He fucking stonewalled Harry Malfoy-Potter. It felt like a stupid kind of irony.

   “I know,” Harry said softly against his shoulder. “I’m not going to.”

   Draco released the tense breath he’d kept caged in. “ _Thank_ you.”

   “Then we have to go to Remus,” Ron said sourly, knowing Harry wouldn’t fancy that alternative much more.

   “He can handle whatever this is,” Draco said, agreeing with Ronald in a rare display of camaraderie. “I mean, the man turns into a wolf once a month.” Oddly enough, Draco had developed a sort of respect for that. Remus may have been a bookworm, but he was no weakling.

   Harry nodded in spite of himself. “I’m not saying that Remus can’t handle it.” The wish he had of Remus never having to handle it seemed to crumble in front of him.

   “I’ll break it to Theo that his father wanted to see him, but if you breathe a word of the fact that he’s refusing to talk without him there, I will hurt the both of you,” Draco threatened the two officers of the law. “I know where you live.”

   “I’ll… Keep that in mind.” Ron stepped away from his third-wheel position and towards the door. “Hermione needs me at home,” he said, waving a goodbye to them. “Or, rather, Rose does.” It was his turn to read the bedtime story.

   “Goodnight,” Draco said cordially before closing the front door behind the ginger before Harry could get in a goodbye of his own.

   “I have to go back to Theo’s,” he continued as he grabbed a coat out of the hall closet. Only England could have summer nights that felt like winter mornings.

   “Wait,” Harry said quietly, slowly.

   Draco was practically halfway out the door when he realized Harry had spoken. “What?”

   “Remus is smart. Remus is brilliant, really. I’m sure he can figure out the next clues, but, um, they get harder as things progress. There may be a point where he can’t figure them out.”

   Draco shook his head before closing the door once more to walk towards Harry. “I can’t do that to Theo. This is it. This is officially the line where your job ends and your personal life begins.”

   “I’d rather it be me in there with him,” Harry muttered. “Than some other Auror. If I pass on the case, it’ll go right to someone else.”

   “No. You’re Head Auror,” Draco said with a quiet desperation. “You can make this go away. It was probably Marcus who killed the man from the Order, and there’s your perpetrator. Case solved.”

   Harry reached out to his husband. “You and I both know it’s not like that, Draco,” he told him gently before cupping Draco’s angular chin. “You can be behind the double-mirror if it even ever comes to that. I’m just saying this now because you also know how difficult these cases can be. They don’t always turn out the way we want them to.”

   “You get hexed quite a bit,” Draco whispered. “So I suppose that’s true.”

   Seeing Draco’s spirits lighten, Harry used his other arm to anchor Draco close to him. “I won’t bring Theo in unless we’re entirely out of options. You have my word.”

   “I know.” He leaned in for a brief brush of their lips. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

   “I’ll wait up for you.”

   Just for that, Draco kissed him again.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The chill of the previous night had turned into one hell of a thunderstorm. It pattered on the rooftop and streamed down the sides of Ginny and Blaise’s favorite diner.

   To amuse herself, Ginny looked at the water drops racing down the side of the window as she sipped her tea. The one on the right made a dashing start for victory, but it was the dark horse from the left that beat him out. It sort of reminded her of a Quidditch move.

   Of course, most things reminded her of Quidditch.

   Blaise, on the other hand, was often reminded of his old life of bar-hopping and general promiscuity rather than the one he was currently living with a steady job and a steady woman.

   He saw the top riding up on the waitress from across the room, and when he looked down to his plate of eggs and bacon, he could have sworn they swirled to look like genitalia.

   None of that was Ginny’s fault, of course. Ginny was lovely. Ginny was fit. Ginny was kind, funny, smart, and had a cute little family. Ginny Weasley, in conclusion, had to be the perfect picture of a girlfriend. Blaise had been entranced by that at Draco and Harry’s stupid monogamous wedding.

   “Training until night again?” he asked, attempting conversation. Their relationship took work, sure, but that didn’t mean he was entirely disillusioned and unhappy.

   “Not in this weather, nah. Last time we tried that, Cooke nearly got electrocuted,” Ginny reminded him. “So, I’ll actually be at the flat with nothing to do.” Ginny wasn’t blind to their recent distance, either.

   Blaise smiled wide. “Good. I’ve forgotten what you’ve looked like out of a uniform.”

   “Then you’ll just have to help me out of it.”

   Before he could scream out a ‘Yes! Finally!’, the waitress with the shirt malfunction dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet (hot off the presses) in between them, as the diner liked to pride themselves on. Keeping people full of food and information, they said, ignoring the fact that The Prophet wasn’t too keen on facts.

   “’Baby Makes Three’,” Ginny read aloud as she turned to see the flash of photos and headlines dancing across the page. “’The latest on the Malfoy-Potter adoption’.”

   “Draco and Harry are always getting the first page. It’s hardly fair, you know.”

   Ginny laughed as she skimmed the made-up details of Draco’s ‘motherly instincts’. Oh, how the Prophet loved gender roles. “You’re jealous of them,” she decided. “Just because we’ve only been on the cover twice doesn’t mean this is a competition.”

   Blaise’s smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Then let’s make it a competition. We should make a sex-tape to one-up them. Any ideas on what we’ll call it?”

   “Save a Quidditch Player, Ride a Broomstick,” Ginny joked right back. “Oh, Merlin, look at this. They didn’t even spell ‘offspring’ right. It’s missing an ‘f’.”

   “That makes them Of Spring,” Blaise nodded solemnly, leaning back so that the returning waitress could bend over to refill his coffee mug. He knew he shouldn’t have looked, but there it was. Glorious cleavage in his face.

   “ _Blaise_ ,” she hissed when the woman was called over to another table. It was stressful enough to wonder what he was doing out of her sight, let alone in it.

   “What?” he asked. Blaise always did put in a noble effort to play it off as an accidental glance.

   “Don’t screw with me. You were staring right at her tits.” Ginny also always dismissed that bullshit effort right away.

   Blaise let out a defeated groan. “I’m only human, Gin. A red-blooded, heterosexual man. Just because I see a nice pair of tits doesn’t mean I want to leave you.”

   She bristled at that. “I know,” Ginny retorted. “But it’s inconsiderate, okay? And rude. I hate when men ogle me in public.” It really made her skin crawl since she was just trying to play a damn sport.

   “Then I’ll just deck all of those men.”

   “You’re one of ‘those men’ for her, y’know.”

   “I know,” he sighed. “I get it, I get it. I’ll try not to do it again.”

   That was what he said every time. “Try harder,” Ginny decided. Maybe that was the only thing that could tame his wandering eye.

   Hoping to put his girlfriend back in a more jovial mood, Blaise made an attempt at—admittedly crass— humor. “I think that all those gay exes of yours threw off your perspective.”

   “What?” The joke landed flat. “Look, why don’t you just eat.” Blaise got stupid in the mornings before he was fed.

   “It was a joke,” Blaise tried to explain when he saw that icy stare take over her usually warm eyes.

   Ginny shook her head and stabbed her scrambled eggs with her fork. She knew it intimidated her boyfriend, and that was honestly always a good thing. “It wasn’t funny,” Ginny muttered. She’d thought Dean was her first love, and Harry the man that she would marry. It stung sometimes, really.

   “Sorry,” Blaise grumbled right back.

   “They did, you know.”

   “What?”

   “They stared at men who walked by,” Ginny blurted out in a strange burst of truth. “They weren’t as obvious as you, of course, but they still did. Men are gross. I honestly have no idea why I haven’t taken after Charlie and abandoned the opposite sex forever.” Curse her lack of attraction to women.

   She’d even tried to date a woman, once. Farrah had been a bubbly girl with soft hair and an easy smile, and Ginny’s only lesbian experience. It had come after a particularly bitter night running into Harry at a club with Draco draped around him, and there had been some serious drinking involved, but it still happened.

   “I’m sorry,” Blaise grumbled again. She really did know how to make him feel like shit when he did the same to her. In its own sick way, Blaise figured it was fair.

   A sad loo came over Ginny’s face when she realized Blaise had actually been listening to her the whole time. It wasn’t that that was rare, it just usually took two times to get it into his skull. “Let’s just eat, alright?”

   “Yeah,” Blaise agreed eagerly. She never got mad with him for staring at chicken breasts. Then again, chicken breasts didn’t turn him on. “And afterwards, we can go to that cupcake place you like so much.”

   “Mm. You’re going to get me to abandon my training diet, I swear,” she sighed happily.

   “I am pretty sweet, yeah.”

   The pun was weak, but she gave him a laugh anyway. Somewhere in the back of Ginny’s mind she knew that this wasn’t ideal, but it was unique to her all the same.

   Blaise was a sleaze, but he could also be understanding and supportive. When Ginny really needed him, he was there. In other words, he wasn’t decidedly The One (as of yet), but there was no reason to upset a caring relationship with a sweet man.

   “Sure,” she said, shaking her head once again. This time, she smiled.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   A world away in Romania at his much less-glamorous day job was another child of Weasley clan.

   Charlie was attempting a removal of the, well, refuse from all of the dragon habitats. It was a dirty task that he had unfortunately lost a bet to do.

   A coworker had challenged him to a drinking challenge at one of the local pubs. She was Romanian and spoke the language much better than he could, and had a long black ponytail. That, and she completely drank him under the table. It was slightly embarrassing.

   So, now he was left with Anna’s duties for the day.

   Charlie waved his wand so that a clothespin appeared for him to close around his nostrils. Dragons were beautiful and majestic from afar, but the spot of the reserve that they used as their toilet… Not so much.

   Pitchfork in hand, Charlie was just above to dive in when he heard someone calling his name.

   “Charlie! You’ve got someone to see you,” Jared said, oblivious of the fame of the man who walked in a dignified stride behind him.

   If it was his mother pressuring him to cut his hair again, he would snap. That woman was a loving one, but she no longer had any control over his life or his follicles. If he so please, Charlie would be Rapunzel.

   Turning around, it was immediately obvious that his mother would not be in attendance.

   “Lucius,” Charlie stated, shocked.

   “Yes, yes,” Lucius said as if to wave away all of the explanation of how he had gotten there or why he had come. “I need to speak with you about a spell.”

   It took Charlie a second to process that. “After I’m done with this, yeah.”

   Looking over Charlie’s shoulder, Lucius saw the most terrifying, wretched thing in the entire world. It made him feel ashamed for naming his only son after the beasts that made such a mess.

   “It’s not so bad,” Charlie shrugged, answering the question that Lucius had never asked. “We only have to do it once a month.”

   “Take a break, then. This is of the utmost importance.”

   “I’m not the spell-writer, you know,” Charlie went on. “That’s Hermione.”

   Lucius knew that, and clenched his teeth to keep from making his distaste obvious. “I know. But it’s true that you’ve also engineered some spells of your own.”

   “For dragon-keeping, yeah.”

   Above their heads, a blue leviathan sailed across the sky. It left a shadow over them for a moment so that Lucius could get a better look at one of the eldest Weasleys. He was tall, stocky, and handsome in a sort of girlish way. If it wasn’t for that bright orange hair, Lucius would have thought him a handsome man. “For eggs,” Lucius clarified. “You see, I have quite the investment made in the peafowl that I keep at Malfoy Manor. So, for their continued existence, I must know which eggs are fertile and which eggs can be disposed of.”

   “Oh,” Charlie said, remembering his spell to determine if dragon’s eggs were empty or not. It had come in handy when picking out Draco and Harry’s wedding presents. “I can teach it to you, if you want.”

   “That was precisely what I came here to do, yes.”

   Charlie dropped the pitchfork and motioned for Lucius to follow him away from Jared and the general stench of the area. “Peafowl, hm? What makes you like them so much?”

    “They are my patronus,” Lucius informed him, surprised by the familiarity of his tone. This Weasley seemed to have a bit more grace than the others. “As I imagine a dragon is yours.”

   “Bingo.”

   “What-o?”

   “It’s a muggle expression,” Charlie laughed. “Anyway, here’s some recently laid eggs.”

   The broodmother of all of the Yupanqui dragons on the island was always getting busy with her male consorts, so they were often fertile enough to raise a whole new generation of dragons. They left their eggs strewn about like they would have in their original home of South America, before they were pushed out of their land by poachers. Yupanqui were a careless and trusting race to their fault.

   “Now, raise your wand hand and repeat after me..."


	15. Mother's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all had a fabulous mother’s day! The holiday sort of inspired me for this chapter. Thanks again for reading!

**Chapter 15: Mother’s Day**

   Once again, Hermione Weasley née Granger found herself on a patient’s slab at St. Mungo’s.

   She’d never been terribly prone to sickness as a child, a teen, a young woman, or at really any other point in her life before she became a mother. Apparently, becoming a parent to another child was trying to wreck her body.

   Hermione really wished Ron could have carried this one.

   “Hello,” Draco said in a sing-song voice as he entered the room with his usual charts and papers. His white robes trailed behind him to remind Hermione of how clinical the whole process could be. “How’s the gestation going?”

   She snorted out a laugh. Draco’s specific vernacular was amusing as ever, even though he looked particularly tired that day. “Normally, I suppose.”

   “So, ribcage pain, itchy skin, and fatigue?”

   “Of course,” she grumbled.

   “Motherhood is magic.”

   “Shut the hell up.”

   Draco laughed. “What? It’s still fun to see you angry with me,” he grinned. “Now, are you going to be applying for maternity leave soon?”

   “No, I’ll be working from home,” Hermione informed him.

   “So you’ll be defending people’s human rights from your couch?”

   “Don’t look so concerned,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’ll get plenty of naps and drink gallons of water a day. I wouldn’t want to upset my Healer; he’s a real stickler for pregnancies. I pity the woman that will soon be carrying his bundle of joy.”

   Draco sat down in his arm-chair across from his patient and let out a disgusted and frustrated noise rather than responding with words. He didn’t want to think about that woman at all.

   “I wanted to tell you, you know,” Hermione continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “That I’m proud of you for taking the restrictions off of your adoption requirements.”

   Draco let out another belabored groan.

   “I mean, it’s what you should have done in the first place to be a decent human being…”

   “Hermione,” he whined.

   “I’m simply letting you know you made the right decision,” Hermione said in a matter-of-fact voice, crossing her arms over her bulging pregnancy bump. “I was worrying your father had gotten to Harry and you.”

   Draco rolled his eyes and pushed on. “We’re here to discuss your baby, correct?”

   “Yes, yes. Everything is going like last time except for a bit more ankle pain,” Hermione brushed off.

   “No Braxton-Hicks contractions?”

   “Not yet.” The thought of going through that again was a dull agony. “I would tell you if something was different, so why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you?”

   He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not my therapist.”

   “Exactly, you prick. You’re my friend and the husband of my _best_ friend. I want to know how your search is going,” Hermione pressed on.

   “We’re conducting interviews this afternoon,” Draco sighed. “We’re meeting with all the different candidates today for about ten minutes so we can rule some of them out based on some simple questions and seeing if they’re in this for the fame or if they’re unprepared for adoption or this process.”

   Hermione gave him a look, curious with how they were going about all of this. “And what exactly constitutes as ‘not ready’ for adoption?” she asked. Whatever it was, Hermione hoped they could spot it.

   “There’s a large possibility that the woman may want to keep the baby after birth. We’re looking for a closed adoption situation, and if they aren’t comfortable with that, then we can’t proceed.” The woman would also have to survive a meeting with the Malfoy family lawyers.

   “That’s true.” Hermione could never imagine after going through labor for Rose for hours and hours, and months and months of anticipating her little girl, having to then give her away. It was her baby, and as much as Hermione had prepared herself for a family life with Ron, she’d never loved anything in the world so much as when she looked at that red, crying blob.

   It had actually been rather unnerving. Hermione knew that happened to new mothers with the rushes of endorphins and hormones and whatnot in order to keep the human race reproducing and caring for their young, but she hadn’t expected it so strong.

   “You’ll at least owl Ron and I with how it goes?” she requested. “The legal system from my coffee table is hardly exciting, and I could use the entertainment.” At least she’d be able to watch Rose full-time.

   “Yes, yes.”

   Hermione smiled warmly. “Good. Now, quit looking so miserable. You’re going to meet the mother of your child soon,” she advised, sounding far too much like Narcissa in that moment.

   “I’m not miserable! I’m just also going to meet forty-nine other girls who aren’t the mother of my child. What if they’re annoying and won’t leave? What if they _cry_ , Hermione? I can’t deal with people who cry.” That was sort of a lie, because he could deal with Harry when he cried, but that was the only exception.

   “Harry is much better with people than you are,” Hermione nodded with a smile.

   Draco rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re the worst, do you know that? That’s hardly the proper way to speak to the godfather of your precious daughter. Also, who is the lucky couple for this one going to be?”

   “We’re not sure. Ron was thinking about Neville and Luna, but I’m leaning more towards George and Angelina.” Luna was a sweet girl, she really was, but if her son came home blabbering about Nargles one day, Hermione might snap. “They’re just wonderful with Fred Jr.”

   “Oh, Merlin,” Draco realized, terrified enough to pick up on one of Harry’s favorite expressions. “I’m having kids before Loony does!”

   “Draco!”

   “What? You called her that back in school, too!”

   “Well,” she bristled. “We’re not kids anymore, we’re having kids. Also, Luna and Neville were just married. I doubt they’d want to jump on having kids so fast.”

   Draco snickered. “They really don’t have you and Ron’s fertility, I suppose. Also, when are we scheduling the surgery to get you fixed?”

   Fire burned in her eyes. “I am not an animal, Draco,” she growled.

   “Well, then what term do you prefer?” he asked, exasperated.

   “Tubal litigation.” Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes to try and visualize her calendar. “Since the baby is due in September, I’ll give myself a month. What days are you free for surgery in December?”

   Draco, on the other hand, was much less organized in his thoughts. He swiveled his chair back to the desk and flipped through a physically organized schedule. “Hm,” he murmured, flipping to the winter months of the year. “The fifth sound good to you?”

   “Sounds perfect.”

   “Well,” Draco said as he penned in the date. “In the meantime, let’s see that fetus.” Grabbing his wand, Draco made his way over to his patient to summon an ultrasound machine. “Do you and Ron want a picture this time, too?”

   “Of course,” Hermione said as she adjusted her paper hospital gown. “Our Aurors will be delighted to see.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   A couple of hours later in their five-star wizarding hotel, a certain Auror was feeling far from delighted. “This is the fifth woman who’s late,” Harry sighed, looking down at the file for Nina Adams whose ten-minute appointment was halfway done without any sign of her.

   For the sake of efficiency, they decided to rule out anyone who was late. Both halves of the couple appreciated tact, and their baby’s future mother had to take the situation seriously to be seriously considered.

   “Either that, or the third woman who just isn’t coming,” Draco told him, feeling rather certain of that. “Want to let the next one in early?”

   Harry shook his head. “May as well wait out the eight minutes,” he shrugged.

   “And what are we going to do for eight minutes?”

   “You’re creative; you’ll think of something.”

   “Are you trying to get in my pants?” Draco asked, turning in his swivel chair to face Harry’s. The board room really did seem like the perfect place for a little office fantasy. “Because I don’t know if you’ve worked hard enough for it yet.”

   “That,” Harry said, slinking off of his chair to sit on Draco’s lap, his legs hanging from either side of the chair. “Can be fixed.”

   His elbows rested on Draco’s strong shoulders. He prolonged the moments before the kiss so that he could capture that anticipation in Draco’s eyes.

   When their lips finally did meet, Harry was determined to make Draco moan. It was a singular, unremitting goal that Harry immediately clung to, much like his teeth clung to Draco’s lower lip.

   Draco’s tongue darted out to meet Harry’s rough tugs, letting out a throaty noise when Harry’s teeth nipped at it.

   “Have I worked hard enough yet?” Harry teased as his hand wandered. He brushed over Draco’s beautiful chest, along the side so he could give Draco’s arse a quick pinch, and down to Draco’s knee before ghosting up to rest on his groin.

   “Hardly,” Draco teased right back. The swivel chair gave him some room to lean and unzip his trousers, giving Harry a daring look.

   Harry pushed the fabric of his pants down low enough so he could also get Draco’s pants down. His cock wasn’t hard yet, but Harry could certainly fix that.

   He didn’t even bother taking his own pants off, just unzipped them and pulled his prick free of the fabric before taking both of their lengths in his hand. His hand moved up their shafts slowly, drawing a shudder out of the both of them.

   The strokes were steady and heavy. “Fuck,” Draco groaned, an obscene smile lighting up his face. “That’s it, clench your hand tighter.”

   Harry’s arm pumped even slower just for that little order. The foreskin of Draco’s cock bunched up under Harry’s hand perfectly, twisting as he came back up to the heads of their cocks.

   “Harry,” he whined, using his own hand to rub across both of their tips.

   With a breathy laugh, the brunette gave Draco a quick kiss. The man really was learned in the ways of Harry’s body, and he knew that pushing down hard on his glans made Harry’s toes curl under. “Draco!” he cried out, nails digging into the fabric of his robes. “What if—what if someone walks in while I’m—?”

   “I’ll just have to make you come faster, then.”

   Another ecstatic gasp escaped Harry’s lips when Draco’s pressure turned red-hot, swirling tight circles around the head of Harry’s cock. “ _Draco_!”

   Harry clung to Draco for dear life with each pump of their hands. His robes were coated in sweat and his hair was most likely an absolute nest, but he could not have cared less. This was his orgasm, goddammit.

   Closing his eyes, Harry let his hips cant upwards so that he could get the best of Draco’s warm skin on his and the pressure of his thumb making torturous laps around Harry’s prickhead.

    Draco and Harry both came at once, splattering their come all over the fronts of their robes.

   “Draco,” Harry said breathlessly, that smile never leaving his face. “You just made a hotel meet-up with fifty women sexual.”

   “You know, most straight men would see that as a sexual thing in the first place,” Draco laughed as he shook some of the white liquid off of his hand and onto the floor. It was the sort of thing men who had servants clean up after them their whole life was conditioned to do, and he realized that he’d have to use a cleaning spell a few seconds later.

   As the spell scrubbed the stains out of their shirts and robes, Harry rolled his eyes. “What do you even know about heterosexuality?”

   “Actually, I have not a single clue. We’ll have to ask one of these pregnant teenagers how that works. They’re apparently ace enough at it to procreate.”

   “I don’t even think straight people have sex,” Harry whispered as if it were some grand conspiracy theory. “I think they just link pinkies or something to get pregnant.”

   Draco laughed, pressing their foreheads together. “Oh? And how do you know that?”

   “Have you ever seen a straight couple having sex? I mean, I’ve walked in on some rather… Personal things between Ron and Hermione, but _thankfully_ , there was no insertion involved,” Harry grinned, biting back a laugh.

   “Unfortunately, I have seen straight sex.” He shuddered at the thought. “It was terrifying and I will never forgive Pansy for it.”

   “Who was it with?” It was a sort of morbid interest, Harry knew, but the chronicles of what were originally just Draco’s friends’ lives and their sex lives had to be the juiciest gossip around.

   “Some Ravenclaw back in school. I think it was that creepy bloke Ginny went out with,” Draco mumbled, pushing the memory away. “I screamed, and then his prick had the decency to go soft inside of her.”

   That was officially too much information. Harry patted Draco’s shoulder and gave him a look that translated directly to a: ‘Why would you tell someone that?’ before climbing off of Draco’s lap and into his own swivel chair.

   When the next young candidate knocked on the door, both men had miraculously managed to shove their members back in their pants for decency’s sake.

   “Hello,” Harry said warmly, wanting to skip right over the starstruck bit. “Rachel Priestly?”

   Thankfully, rather than screech and jump up and down, the woman nodded; her clearly freshly-curled locks bouncing with her head movement. “It’s so good to meet you,” she said, outstretching her palms so that Draco and Harry could both shake hands with her.

   Draco gave his husband a look. He’d liked the sound of this one, and she’d been the first to be able to handle herself in front of them. “So,” he turned to her. “How’s the pregnancy coming along?”

   “I’ve finally gotten over my morning sickness, and the Healers I’ve been seeing have told me everything is just fine.”

   “Wonderful,” Draco said. If this woman worked out, then everybody would win. She fit the original genetic profile for Lucius’ taste, and as for Harry’s, what reason had she given them not to like her? “We’d just like to go over some preliminary details of the adoption forms to make sure you’re looking for the same thing that we are.”

   Her green eyes snapped to attention. “Of course, of course.”

   Harry shuffled through the heap of papers in front of him. “Well, you should know right off the bat that we’re considering a closed adoption.”

   “I’m sorry,” Rachel interjected in such a polite and effortless way that Draco was reminded of his mother a bit. “But I’m not familiar with any of this. As I’m sure you’ve read in my file, I wasn’t planning on choosing the route of adoption.”

   “We’re sorry,” Harry said sincerely. He hoped with all of his heart that he would never have to feel the pain that Rachel did when her husband died. If Harry was lucky, he and Draco would both die in their sleep after a night of old-people snuggling so that one wouldn’t have to miss the other, or bury the other. “For your loss, I mean. You’re so strong to get through this.”

   Draco threw in a nod of agreement.

   “It’s what’s best for the baby. If you don’t mind me mentioning, you two are very well off. I have a flower shop that needs marketing before we so much as sell a single red rose.”

   “It’s brave of you to think for the child,” Harry told her in the utmost adoration. Even he was finding a favorite in her.

   “Plus,” Rachel shrugged. “I’ll get to hop over and visit whenever you’re not too busy. I can’t wait for the first birthday party.”

   And there it was, the kiss of death.

   “Well,” Draco said carefully, eyes darting to Harry for some back-up. “You see, we were looking into a closed adoption to avoid any confusion the child would have about who their parents are.”

   “And that would mean that you would have no contact with the child,” Harry followed up. “We could send you pictures or progress reports, but we would be the only parental figures in their life.”

   Rachel was stunned silent for a moment.

   “Oh. I didn’t know that was what it meant,” she stammered.

   This human being growing inside of her might have her husband’s eyes, or his laugh, or his croft of dark hair. How could she give up the only living piece of him in exchange for progress reports?

   “Is this not something you’re interested in?” Draco asked as he tried a comforting look on his face that probably just made him look tense.

   If that woman worried at her lower lip any longer, it might fall off. “There’s no way you would consider letting me see the baby?” Rachel asked. When she cried, she could feel it a mile away. The telltale symptoms of a swollen throat and shaky hands were there, but the official tears hadn’t come yet. “I want the baby to know about their father. Someone has to carry on his legacy.” His life had been too short to carry it on himself.

   Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this couldn’t end well. “I don’t think that’s what we want, sorry.”

   “Maybe,” Draco said as he tried to salvage the one promising interview of the day. “You could visit and pretend to be a family friend, or an aunt or uncle.”

   Rachel, eyes now watering and heart now wrapped in what had to be a thousand jungle vines, shook her head.

   Harry stood to maneuver around the table before Draco could properly restrain him. “Rachel,” Harry said gently, putting an arm around her shoulder.

   That was all it took.

   Milliseconds later she was a bawling mess, sobbing into Harry’s newly-cleaned shirtfront. “Rachel,” he tried. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll find a couple willing to have an open adoption. It’s going to be okay.”

   From his swivel chair, Draco watched in abject horror as his husband tried to soothe this complete stranger. “Yeah,” he added on to reinforce whatever Harry was going on about. “I have no doubt that you’ll find someone.”

   As she withdrew her face from the crook of Harry Malfoy-Potter’s shoulder, Rachel realized what a fool she had been, thinking she could go through with this. “I’m sorry,” she said again, terribly embarrassed.

   Harry saved the bloody world when he was seventeen, and she barely had it together at twenty-two. Rachel had hidden in Bulgaria with her parents during the war’s duration. The whole thing was a sort of dreary blur, except for when the radio announcement came. _Harry Potter has killed Lord Voldemort! We’ve won, we’ve won!_

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Harry murmured. “This is an emotional process.” At least he figured it was. “Do you want me to walk you back to the lobby?”

   “No. No, please. You’ve been kind enough already. Thank you for this, even if it got neither of us anywhere,” Rachel battled through the tears and wiped them away with her rough jacket sleeve. “I’ve made enough of an idiot of myself.”

   “We don’t think you’re an idiot,” Draco said as if it were obvious.

   Strangely enough, having the lover of a hero and a world-class Healer confirming that she wasn’t an idiot made Rachel feel a bit more settled. “Then you really must be as kind as they say.”

   “’They’? I think The Prophet called me a ‘Raging Disruption’ yesterday.”

   “No,” she laughed, never having read that paper after the war. “I mean, people you’ve met. Even if it’s for a second or two. Before I came here, I asked around. Shop owners, friends, family, and more had seen you or met you at one point or another. I don’t know if you remember her, but my sister, she made a domestic call to the Auror department.” Rachel turned to Harry. “You arrived on the scene and you hexed the living shit out of that bastard who had her under his spell. Literally. He gave her a love potion. Then, you checked up on her every weekend to make sure she was doing alright.”

   “I remember that case,” Draco marveled. “You came home ranting about consent and misogyny that night.”

   “Is there a night where I don’t rant about consent and misogyny?”

   Draco pretended to try and think of one to get a laugh out of Rachel.

   “Thank you,” she said again. It felt a bit like a break-up. _We just don’t want the same things._

   When she exchanged a few more goodbyes, Rachel was out of the door for good.

   Draco and Harry both would never know what happened to her, or what she ultimately did with that baby, but they wished her well all the same.

   “Fuck,” Harry muttered as he walked back to his swivel chair.

   Draco couldn’t help but agree.

   The next couple of women were luckily less dramatic, ranging from an uptown girl in khakis to a Syrian-born woman who had to use her wand as a translator.

   Some were ruled out, and some were kept in the pool, but none quite stood out.

   In all honesty, Draco was holding out his hope for Rachel coming back to the hotel and telling them she’d changed her mind. That hope died when he saw the final candidate walk through the door.

   “Well, well, well.”

   Grace pretended Draco’s little jab at her didn’t even happen. “So good to see you two again. That’s a decadent robe, Draco, you really are a winter.”

   “A what?”

   “Hush,” Draco said to his husband. He could explain color palettes later. “I want to get this over with quickly.”

   Harry had adjusted the questions over time with each slightly failed interview, and he’d gotten a routine pretty well-memorized. “You are aware that this is a closed adoption?”

   “Yes,” Grace answered happily, her ankles crossed under her swivel chair. That pregnancy of hers made crossing her legs at the thighs much more difficult. “You can tell the thing I died in a fire-related accident or a drug overdose for all I care.”

   “That won’t be necessary,” Draco cut in. “If they want to seek you out when they’re eighteen, we’ll contact you first to make sure you even want to be found.”

   “Perfect,” she chirped. At least she hadn’t committed a major faux pas like she had almost every other time Draco and Harry were involved. Well, she hadn’t committed one yet.

   “And you’d be comfortable with us paying the medical bills and monitoring you closely?”

   “Of course. If you wanted, I could even get a flat closer to you or something,” she offered, knowing how hospitable Gryffindors were at heart. They could never let the possible mother of their child sleep in destitution, right?

   “That wouldn’t be necessary,” Harry shrugged, making the mistake of not checking with Draco first. “You could always stay—“

   “Somewhere. We’d find a place for you somewhere,” Draco finished. “Now, about prenatal regiments…”

   Refusing to meet the eyes of the young girl who’s t-shirt didn’t quite fit because of the growth around her girth, Draco went on.

   She gave a wonderful response to every wonderfully-crafted question, much to his distaste. He could see how Grace bloody Burbage was growing on his husband.

   The worst part was, Draco knew it was for good reason. No matter how rude, obnoxious, or self-obsessed she was… She was what they were looking for in a legal contract.

   She’d made it to round two based on that, but on no raving review from Draco.


	16. Werewolf Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AP tests are over. I am a FREE WOMAN. Drarry is the only thing that got me through these past few weeks. Those crazy boys sure do light up my heart. Anyway, here they are again! Thanks so much for reading this.

**Chapter 16: Werewolf Style**

   Remus had said he would come down to the station around lunchtime, and Harry didn’t want to press him for a specific time. He was already asking enough of the man.

   When Harry had originally popped over to Grimmauld Place, he’d been met with a dirt-coated Sirius at the door. With a wild grin on his face, his godfather waved him inside.

   _“Harry, you have to see this.”_

   Knowing Sirius was always up to something worth hearing about, Harry wanted to finally witness it rather than hear a swarthy tale from Remus at a family dinner. Sometimes, Harry wished he could spend more time with the two men. The urge to know what his own brief toddler-hood had been grew with time, but the catalyst was when Lucius gave him the resurrection stone before he walked down the aisle.

   Harry kept the story of the three brothers in mind every time he looked at his nightstand drawer. If he let himself see his parents every day—in their spectral form, entirely untouchable and unearthly—Harry knew it wouldn’t be healthy.

   Harry would want them there all the time, then. He’d realize just how starved he was for parenting and cling to them even harder than he had already begun to cling to Remus, Sirius, Molly, Arthur, Lucius, and Narcissa as parental figures in their own rights.

   The stone had only been used twice after Harry and Draco’s wedding: once when Draco got particularly curious about meeting his in-laws, and once after a particularly bad encounter with the press.

   Anyway, Harry had followed Sirius down the brightly-lit corridor to the backyard they’d built to see what could really only be described as a massive hole in the ground next to a neat and orderly garden. Remus’ handiwork was evident in the rows of carrots and potato plants alongside blossoming begonias.

   Sirius pointed to the hole proudly _. “I dug that! Well, as Padfoot, but I kept telling everyone we didn’t need a contractor!”_

_“Sure proved us wrong,” Olivia laughed from a lawn chair, ankles crossed and her nose in a book._

Remus had emerged from his study moments later to laugh at the development in his renovations. If Walburga had seen the mess Sirius had made, she would have fainted, which would have made everyone else involved incredibly happy.

   Harry had pulled him aside to murmur about the Fenwick case, and he’d seen the eyes that were often so full of laughter darken, like they had when Harry had met him in third year.

   “Ron,” Harry said, needing something to distract him from the sinking feeling in his stomach. “How’s Rosie doing?”

   When Ron Weasley got started talking about one of his beautiful, perfect children, it was hard to stop him. “She’s great, absolutely great, crawling and everything. She’s a fast one, too! Always blabbing n about ‘mama’ and ‘dada’, I think she’s going to be a real genius like her mum.”

   “Aw.” That was cute.

   “And once her little brother comes around, we’ll have two geniuses.”

   Harry grinned. “You know, most of the women we’re looking at have a due date around Hermione’s,” he said, hushed and excited. “Our little geniuses could be going to Hogwarts in the same year.”

   That was the sort of news that Ron was looking for about this adoption. “They’ll be in Gryffindor like we were,” he decided. “Except this time, they won’t fear for their lives or go to war. Nothing can hurt them now that Hogwarts is finally safe.”

   “Yeah,” Harry smiled. Rose, the new Weasley, and Draco and Harry’s child. The new Golden Trio.

   The knock on the door jarred Harry from his daydreams. “Come in,” Ron called before exchanging a look with Harry. Ron really hoped that this wouldn’t go too terribly not only for Remus’ sake, but for Harry’s. His best mate tended to blame himself for all the wrong in the world, and Remus Lupin had experience a world of wrong in his lifetime.

   “Oh,” Harry said, shocked. The figure in the door wasn’t his lycanthrope godfather in the slightest.

   It was a thin, pale boy that seemed sort of familiar. Only when Ron stood up to stare down the young man did he remember where he and Harry had seen them last. “You,” Ron said, confused. “We arrested you.”

   The crop of jet-black hair on his head swished when he nodded. It was even more unruly than it had been on the beach, flopping in front of his eyes. “You did,” he muttered.

   “Who let you in here?” Harry asked, getting to his feet. Not just anyone could barge into the Head Auror’s office. Quickly, he rang for the intern that watched the door by pressing the button under his desk.

   “I didn’t hurt anybody,” the young boy defended, taking a step back. “I only came here to apologize.”

   “To apologize?” Ron laughed, drawing his wand. That was a new one, but it still smacked of a complete lie.

   “Yes,” the boy said. “I wasn’t the one who hexed your Auror friend, and I felt bad that it happened. The hex was meant for me, was all.”

   “Well, congratulations. You’ve apologized and you can leave now,” Ron snarked.

   Harry furrowed his brow and lowered his own wand. “Your friend got charged, then?”

   “Yeah, his mum nearly ripped him a new one. He won’t be released from a juvie center until Hogwarts starts back up again, but I tried to run. I gave you a hard time. I’m sorry,” he muttered, lacking any of the articulation that age would give him. What was it with teens and mumbling?

   “Well… You’re forgiven? It wasn’t that serious, you really don’t need to be so upset.”

   He shook his mop head of hair again. “No, I’ve got to man up to some stuff, and this is just the first on my list.”

   From behind the young man, the guest that Ron and Harry had actually been expecting appeared. “Sean?” Remus asked, confused as to why one of his students was looking bashfully at the ground of the Auror department. “What are you doing here?”

   “I was just—“

   “Young man,” the intern who Harry had called huffed. “I’m going to need to escort you from the building.”

   The office had never been filled with such a strange diversity of people. The intern pulled the boy out of the room by his elbow before Remus could even get an answer to his question.

   “You know him?” Ron asked, snorting out a laugh before shutting out the madness by closing the door behind the intern.

   “He’s one of my students.” Certainly not the brightest, or the best, or the most responsible… “He’ll be graduating next year, and I’ve been tutoring him over the summer.”

   Harry, feeling rather disoriented by the run-in, sat back down on the black leather couch Draco had insisted he’d put in his workplace for quickie shagging reasons. “Strange kid,” Harry decided, sweeping away the incident for the sake of focus. “Now, Remus.”

   The lycanthrope took a seat next to Harry and rested his arm around his shoulders. They would get this over with quickly and hopefully painlessly. “What did the note say?”

   Ron handed him the slip of paper from the desk.

   “’Another scream from the vault’,” Remus read aloud. No wonder Harry and Ron couldn’t crack it; it made no discernible sense. “I assume you’ve already looked into the Nott bank vaults.”

   “Theo emptied them out, actually. He kept half for himself and gave half of it away.” The half he kept was more than enough to keep him rich for the better part of a thousand years, too. “So if anything was there, I think Theo would have noticed a body part a few years ago.”

   “Vault…” Remus murmured. “Vault. Why does that sound so familiar?”

   “We were hoping you could tell us that,” Harry said gently.

   “It sounds familiar. It was something Sirius used to talk about in school, I can remember him at lunch saying something to me about it,” Remus remembered as he tried his hardest to wrack his brain. He plunged deep into memories of shaky hands around Sirius’ waist, laughing nervously when Sirius snuck a kiss in against his jaw after a full moon to assure him nobody had been hurt, and that everything was alright.

   Something clicked. “It couldn’t be.”

   “Couldn’t be what?” Ron asked. Finally, some sort of lead.

   “The Shrieking Shack. When I transformed there, Wormtail always brought a spare set of clothes and hid them in what used to be an old safe in the home. One time, Sirius accidentally left something in there. I think it was a watch. He called it the ‘Vault’ so that we could complain about it in public without letting the whole world know that I was the reason for the howling in the Shack.”

   Harry was on the edge of his seat by the time he finished. “Let’s go, then.”

   They were one step closer to closing the case, which was certainly enough progress for Harry.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Somehow, this reminded Draco of that muggle television show he and Harry had watched that winter. There were twenty-or-so models, and they were all competing for some representation and money. What was it called?

   “Britain’s Next Top Model,” he remembered out loud as he put the files and photos of perspective mothers back into their designated place on the kitchen counter.

   “Hm?” Pansy asked absentmindedly as she rummaged through Draco’s refrigerator for a tub of ice cream.

   “Nothing,” Draco assured her as if she were actually listening.

   Blaise stood on his tip-toes to peek over Pansy’s shoulder. “Is there any mint chocolate-chip?”

   “Mint is disgusting,” she scolded as she pulled out a tub of strawberry. “It’s like an evergreen assault on your mouth.”

   “Agreed,” Draco nodded. He hated when Harry forgot to get a different flavor of toothpaste or charm his toothpaste to something less horrific. Snogging Draco was a privilege and a pleasure, and his approval was important.

   “You two are disgusting,” Blaise decided before sulking over to the parlor so that he wouldn’t have to suffer through a bowl of that fruity nonsense. “And I am shocked that I am still friends with you.”

   Pansy rolled her eyes. “I’ll bring you a shot of vodka sans ice cream, then.”

   “It’s the least you could do,” he nodded, keeping his teasing grin planted on his face.

   When the Slytherins all made their way back to the parlor to join Blaise, he had moved on from moping in the sake of alcohol. Their little get-together had been inspired by the prospect of drinking, anyway.

   Greg, Maggie, and Theo all had things to do, but that didn’t stop their friends from getting foxed in the middle of the afternoon like the socialites they used to be.

   “Bottoms up,” Draco said before dipping his spoon in the alcohol-filled and freezing delight to send it down his throat. It was an unnaturally hot summer day in London, and the chill in his throat was more than welcome.

   Blaise swallowed his own drink in seconds while Pansy downed her own ice cream mix.

   “Ah. It’s a familiar feeling, inebriation in the afternoon,” she reminisced.

   “Late afternoon,” Draco stressed.

   “Let’s play a game.”

   Blaise rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you want to play truth or dare?” It was well-known that Pansy was an expert at the game and its number one fan. In her opinion, if games didn’t leave other people vulnerable or humiliated, there was no real point to them at all.

   Debauchery, food, drink, and comedy. They were the only things Pansy saw as beautiful aside from her own face in a mirror—and Maggie’s, of course.

   “I’ll ask our host first,” Pansy giggled. “Draco?”

   “I’m not drunk enough for a dare yet.”

   “Fine, truth. If you were to create the perfect porno, as in, perfect actors, perfect set, perfect plot, perfect orgasms and everything, how would it go?” she prompted.

   Draco laughed and scooped some more ice cream into his mouth. “Hm. It’d have to be incredibly specific.”

   Pansy nodded eagerly. “Go on, then.”

   “Okay, so two blokes have been dating for a while now. One is the absolute definition of a teenage twink: thin, pale, hairless—“

   “That sounds like a naked mole-rat,” Blaise laughed as he refilled his glass.

   Pansy snickered with him. “A _sexy_ naked mole-rat. Anyway, continue.”

   “And the other bloke is fit. Not muscular like every other fucking porn has, but fit like he runs track and plays Quidditch. Often. He’s defined, but he’s not a meathead. They’re both really into each other and see a future with one another, even though I’d like the age gap to be at least twelve years.”

   “Woah, what?”

   “Calm down, Blaise. Just because you’re six months older than me doesn’t mean I’m coming after you.”

   “I just didn’t know you were into older men,” Blaise said. “That’s the definition of daddy issues, you know. And you married a man a month _younger_ than you.”

   “I’m married, I’m not dead,” Draco scoffed. Harry was beautiful and young and gorgeous and absolutely perfect in every way that Draco could name, but sometimes, a dark and aged gentleman across a bar earned a proper checking-out from Draco. “And believe me, the last thing I’m thinking about when I’m horny is my father.”

   That at least got a laugh out of Blaise and Pansy. “Touché,” the other man said. “Then I’m just going to assume it’s residual attraction to Sirius and Remus.”

   “That—“ Pansy howled with laughter. “Is so wrong that it’s almost right!”

   “Sirius is my aunt-cousin-thing! I know the Malfoys and the Blacks alike have a history of interfamilial marriages, but come on,” Draco scolded playfully. Sure, his ‘auntie’ was hot, but Draco had his limits and boundaries. “Anyway, so these two blokes are getting home from a date or whatever and they’re at the twink’s flat and—“

   “You’re technically not related to Remus by blood,” Blaise pointed out.

   “He’s hot,” Pansy announced as if the whole room needed to know what was on her mind.

   Draco gave them both weary looks. “You’re insane, the both of you.”

   “Oh, come on! You remember third year. He was scraggily and listened to jazz.”

   “He’s still scraggy and listens to jazz,” Blaise nodded sagely. “So by that logic, he is still definitely hot.”

   “This is not about you two having repressed sexual fantasies for your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; this is about my porno!” Draco sighed. “Now if we can move on and let Harry’s fairy godmothers be, that would be much less emotionally scarring for all of us.”

   Pansy looked into her empty bowl and decided that wasn’t acceptable, so she marched back to the kitchen for some more food. “I’m still stuck on that fact that Remus is hot.”

   “So the guys are making out because they’re hot, not my uncle, and they rip each other’s clothes off as they stumble to the bedroom—“

   “—Two handsome older men like that, Remus and Sirius,” Pansy marveled. “Their sex must be fantastic and—“

   “—as a frisky joke, the fit bloke, let’s call him Ben, gives the twink a little spank—“

   “—wonder if Olivia has ever overheard any of that. Would it be terribly rude to ask her? Or should I wait until she starts getting into liking freaky stuff like two men—“

   “—and then they absolutely just go wild. They don’t even talk about it, but Ben summons some restraints and ties the other bloke up on his stomach—“

   “—definitely walked in on them at one point. I can see it in McGonagall’s eyes. Whenever she looks at Remus and Sirius, I can just feel her thought process, you know? I can just feel that she’s seen their cocks—“

   The shouting battle of rants between Draco and Pansy escalated on both sides in a manner that quite frankly impressed Blaise Zabini. It spanned over an hour and over several, several drinks.

   “And Ben is just shagging his brains out, I mean really fucking him hard while they’re both screaming while the twink is just yelling out ‘master’—!”

   “—What position do you Remus and Sirius do it in the most?”

   Blaise had to answer that. “Doggy style.”

   Even Draco couldn’t hold back a horrible laugh at that. “ _Blaise_!”

   “No, no, no,” Blaise slurred drunkenly over his previous statement. “ _Werewolf_ style.”

   Pansy found that pun so delightful that she actually shrieked. “Blaise!” she yelled out, leaning up against her friend until her laughter subsided. “That—that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Holy shit. Holy shit!”

   “Get out of my house,” Draco told them both without any intention of following through on his demand.

   When it seems the front door had answered Draco’s plea, even he was a little startled.

   “Harry!” Draco greeted him, leaping to his feet so he could hug him in a drunken display of affection. “You’re home and you smell nice. I’ve decided we need to purchase a film studio because I am a genius with porn.”

   “What?”

   “Don’t look at me like that, it won’t be _our_ sex tape I’m producing. We’re going to have children, and children grow into teens that view and read porn, and I want there to be a zero percent possibility of them seeing us having sex,” he clarified.

   Well, that was sort of comforting, Harry figured. “You’re drunk,” he said fondly. “And you have the morning shift tomorrow.” What a dumbarse. A lovable, foxed dumbarse.

   “Right,” Draco mumbled, suddenly feeling sleepy. “I’m going to go to bed then, darling. Sweetheart. Harry-pie.”

   “Harry!” Blaise yelled, eyes wild. “Want to hear a joke about Remus and Sirius?”

   “No,” Draco laughed as he hushed Blaise. There were certain things that had to stay between Slytherins. “He does not want to hear that, and he is taking me to bed.”

   “Like Ben took the twink to bed? Or are you Ben in this situation?” Pansy asked, head pleasantly swimming in a sea of ethanol.

   Before Harry could ask what being the ‘Ben’ in a relationship meant, Draco gave him a sloppy line of kisses on the jaw. “Non-sexual bed,” Draco clarified. “I am being tucked in!”

   “Right this way, then,” Harry laughed, taking his lover by the arm and chuckling. “You had a fun play-date, I assume?”

   He laughed right back as Harry guided Draco’s heavy feet up the stairs. “Oh, Salazar. Don’t use that term so early in the years of children. Years, Harry. Years of play-dates with the Weasleys and the Lupins and the Longbottoms and the Creeveys and the Browns…”

   Draco went on listing last names as Harry went through the process of getting him down to only his underwear and kissing him goodnight.

   Downstairs, Pansy’s game wasn’t over yet. “Your turn.”

   “Truth,” Blaise said to keep safe from any risqué dares. The last thing he needed was getting naked in the Potter-Malfoy home like Pansy would most likely make him do.

   “If you,” Pansy murmured slowly, leaning in as every word came to her. “Could cheat on Ginny, and know you wouldn’t get caught—“

   “Like, one-hundred percent sure?”

   “You knew it. Like, it was virtually impossible for her to know, would you do it?” she asked.

   “Wouldn’t you?”

   Pansy laughed and rolled her eyes. “This is not about me, Zabini. This is about you and the Golden Girl.” Plus, Pansy had all she needed, strangely enough.

    With a drunken smile, Blaise nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’d never want to, y’know, hurt her and stuff, but if I could without her ever knowing…”

   “You dog,” Pansy giggled, voice in that gossipy tone she took on whenever scandal entered Pansy’s line of vision. “Who with?”

   “That wasn’t the question,” he retorted happily. “Because it’s your turn now.”

   Pansy didn’t even hesitate. “Dare.”

   “I dare you to tell me if you’d cheat on Maggie if you knew you could get away with it.”

   “What a waste of a dare,” Pansy snorted. She’d been hoping to get dared to dance, or cut all of her hair off. The sort of thing she wouldn’t do whilst sober and would immediately regret in the morning. “I would not.”

   “Never?”

   “I like Maggie. If I didn’t like Maggie, I wouldn’t be with her.” It was simple, honestly. “If I ever saw someone that I wanted to cheat with badly enough, I would leave her. That’s at least respectful, I suppose.”

   “And you don’t even miss blokes?” Blaise asked after a moment.

   Pansy kicked her chartreuse heels up on the coffee table. “What would you know about blokes?” she teased. “You’ve only seen your own cock.”

   “Yes.” That was true, except for the one time Vince flashed him in the locker-room. “And I’ve been told it does pretty fantastic things to a woman,” he grinned before gulping down a nearby bottle of firewhiskey.

   “Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

   “You do almost every day, Parkinson.”

   With a burst of laughter, Pansy figured that was true, but she really didn’t care. “Yeah, but if you think repeatedly shoving a prick into a girl’s twat is the best way to make her come without any other assistance, I pity the sex you’re having. I don’t miss blokes because Maggie is better than most blokes, and if I ever want to get fucked, we have quite a collection of toys.”

   “Oh.”

   “Exactly,” she smirked, rather pleased with herself and her lesbian sex.

   A moment of silence lingered in the air between them. It felt stale, and far too long for Pansy, but she was interrupted by Blaise’s question.

   “Is it bad? That I would want to cheat on Ginny?”

   “Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged. It wasn’t as if she was a deity of morality, but that was crossing a line.

   Blaise put his head in his hands, feeling the onset of a headache. “I wouldn’t want to upset her. I really, really fancy her. She’s great, and I don’t want to lose that. But…”

   “You want to fuck other people.”

   “I want to fuck other people. I don’t think I was built for monogamy, Pansy. She could sleep with other people, too. We could have one of those open relationship things! Yeah, it’d be fair, and we could even try threesomes. Salazar, I love threesomes. And swingers parties. And orgies.”

   Descending the stairs, Harry laughed. “All I heard was ‘orgies’,” he informed them before walking around to collect the empty bottle and glasses. “You two good enough to floo home?”

   “Yeah,” Pansy and Blaise answered quickly, standing on their wobbly feet to pad their way over to the fireplace.

   “Goodnight, then,” Harry said, feeling strange about why they had been so prickly in responding to him.

   Pansy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take care of my Dray-Dray,” she told him with such a serious tone and a drunken intonation that Harry immediately laughed away any doubt as to their sincerity.

   “I’m sure he’d appreciate you calling him that.”

   Blaise was the first to floo away, but Pansy wasn’t far behind. She gave Harry a last tiny wave before disappearing from the home entirely.

   Harry hadn’t had a clue what conversation had gone on in his parlor, which was greatly in Blaise’s favor. Harry would deck the fucker who cheated on his friend.

   Dropping the final bottles in the garbage, Harry climbed back up the stairs to his warm, welcoming bed already occupied by his snoring husband.

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think you understand how hard I laugh whenever I make a dumb werewolf style joke about wolfstar  
> I fucking cackle.


	17. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Drarry. Bridezillas’ Marriage Boot Camp is on my television at this very second. This is the show that started it all! When I looked into the eyes of an entitled bride with too much money and too many anxiety problems, I saw Draco Malfoy screaming at a waiter. Bridezillas gives me hope for the human race, man. Look at how far we’ve come as a species. God bless us everyone one.  
> TW for descriptions of torture

**Chapter 17: Unexpected**

   It was hard to focus on complete and utter idiots with medical problems when Draco’s husband had told him that they’d found a fucking femur bone in the shrieking shack.

   Pillow talk about Harry’s job could be fun sometimes. He’d tell Draco swarthy tales of arrests, convictions, and patrols. Drunken broom-riding arrests were funny, bad breakups ending up in the hands of Aurors were funny, and animal control cases were funny. Femur bones? Not even slightly funny. There was no irony, no grace, and no humor (Draco considered making a joke about humor bones, but it seemed in poor taste).

   Benjy Fenwick’s femur bone was in a cupboard in the Shrieking Shack, and had been for thirty years.

   It had been sitting there when Remus returned to the shack in 1985 to rip up an old floorboard that had pictures of him and Sirius together and burn them in the fireplace in the shack.

   It had been there nearly ten years later in 1994 when Remus and Sirius had reunited in the shack only to attempt group murder in front of their godson and his two hapless friends.

   It had been rotting and decaying down to the bone the whole time, and nobody noticed. Nobody wanted to look there, not even Remus. The last thing he needed was the smell of Sirius’ clothes, or to find the notebook of drawings that James had kept down there. Most of the drawings were of Lily’s hair from various angles, and it would have only made Remus cry.

   Harry only knew that because of the way his hazel eyes got glassy when they found the notebook. It was under an old band shirt of Sirius’, and a pair of Peter’s socks which were promptly tossed to the side.

   The older man had apparated a way so fast with the notebook in hand that he didn’t even get a chance to look at the scribbled hint that Nott Sr. had left next to the bone.

   Draco had no idea what to say after Harry told him all of that. What were you supposed to say to something like that? There was no hand-guide for this just like there had been no hand-guide for overcoming the trauma the rest of the war had left behind it.

   That night, Draco decided he would make pasta. He’d make meatballs and get a loaf of Italian bread from the store to go with it.

   After mentally categorizing what spices he would use in the tomato sauce and how much, Draco figured he needed to get around to some of the witches and wizards waiting in the clinic for a Healer to bother with their complaints of ‘mysterious arm aches’ and ‘purple toes and gums’.

   At least that was what the last two had been.

   “How did you…?” Draco asked, looking at the magic scanner feeling a mixture of disturbed and distressed.

   The little boy on his table shrugged, and his mother rolled her eyes. “The babysitter left him alone my husband’s office while she went to answer an owl from her boyfriend, and… Well, when she came back, Robert had already swallowed it.”

   “I can see that.”

   The scanner showed the tiny silver elephant figurine resting in the boy’s stomach. “It kinda feels like it’s taking a bath in my tummy,” little Robert said.

   “My husband got it as a gift from his last business trip from India,” explained the mother.

   “I can get it out,” Draco assured her before pressing on to satisfy his own curiosity. “Robert, why did you think it was a good idea to swallow something that wasn’t food?”

   He shrugged. “It looked shiny.” Draco, for a brief moment, prayed to a god he didn’t believe in for his own child to never be that stupid. “I like shiny things. You should have seen mommy’s face when I swallowed her sickle.”

   Draco’s eyes widened. “This isn’t the first time this has happened?” That was a whole new level of stupid.

   “No,” she sighed, embarrassed by her son’s behavior. “We keep telling him how unhealthy it is, and we can usually get the objects out ourselves, but the problem today is that the elephant has quite a pointy tail, as you can see. I didn’t want anything that wasn’t supposed to get pricked get pricked.”

   “Robert,” Draco said gently as he wheeled over a medical supply table to get a protective mask over his face. This was going to smell foul. “I need you to relax so I can get the elephant out. You say he’s swimming, but I think he’s drowning. Then when he’s safe we can talk about why you ate him, okay?”

   Wriggling into a comfy spot on the patient slab, the little boy nodded.

   Careful as ever, Draco lifted his wand and remembered his training. The incantation left his lips without a flaw as the tip of his wand lit up green as a tendril of magic energy reached out for Robert’s stomach.

   The metal elephant was on the table in a matter of seconds, dropping to it with a loud clang.

   Draco was glad for whatever resistance his small blue face mask offered him, because there was also about a teaspoon of stomach acid that came with it. At least it hadn’t been a tablespoon.

   “Ellie!” the boy cried and reached for the figurine before Draco could swat his hand away.

   “Not now. We’ll have to clean it, and you’ll need to have a talk with one of our best pediatricians.”

   His mother looked concerned at that. “I’m not sure if our insurance—“

   “Don’t worry about it,” Draco assured them. Something within him was willing to work around the limitations of galleons for a boy who seemed destined to choke on a golf club. “I can get this little guy an appointment.”

   Oh, if Lucius saw him now his shrewd heart would break. Not only was his son a Gryffindor-loving queer, but his fist around the family fortune wasn’t half as tight as Lucius’.

   That was an admittedly good thing, because Lucius was wound tightly in just about every aspect of his life. Money, tradition, and family were the top three, but peafowl breeding was probably rather high on the list, too.

   Those damn things had been going at it like rabbits at the Manor.

    As Draco shipped off the boy and his mother to another Healer who could specialize in whatever sort of psychological help a boy who guzzled down everything from tin to aluminum. Maybe he thought it would make him shiny.

   A little stripper glitter could solve that problem. In fact, it could solve many global conflicts in Draco’s humble opinion. Maybe countries wouldn’t be upset enough to bomb each other if the UN held strip club meetings.

   Contemplating his new solution for world peace, Draco went back out into the clinic waiting room.

   The people there had nearly doubled. What the hell was in the air that day?

   “Next,” Draco called half-heartedly, not one bit too happy to see his next patient bound towards him with an enthusiasm that should only be reserved for fantastic food and fantastic sex.

   “Can I get your autograph?” she asked excitedly before Draco calmly walked back into the clinic room, slammed the door shut, and apparated away for a little ‘union break’.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Remus had agreed to meet with the Auror squad later that night, since this clue was even more ridiculous than the rest. It was detailed, and long, and made Harry’s stomach churn to read.

_Hello, Half-breed,_

   Harry would have to hold Sirius back from running back to Azkaban just to deck the bastard. _Nobody_ called his Moony a half-breed.

_I’ve been informed that you’re the one digging up parts of your dear friend. Lucky for you, I’ve got enough parts to go around for an eternity. You wouldn’t believe how he screamed._

_He yelled out your name at some point, too. Yours and your ickle blood-traitor boyfriend’s, like you two would swoop in and save him. It really was a shame that Regulus and that bastard are related._

_Well, were related. Your brother-in-law, as I imagine you’ve deduced, is no longer. Both sons of Black are a disappointment to their family, and soon they’ll both be dead. Maybe I’ll cut him up and give you hints for where to find him; maybe then you’d wise up and move faster with these hints. I’m very generous in giving you clues, and I always had to hear at school how bloody brilliant you were._

_Anyway, I always could wind up cutting you up and leaving the pieces for Black to pick up, so that’s why I’m speaking directly to you. You haven’t got much longer to live, Lupin. I wanted to let you know that you’re not half as smart as McGonagall likes to think you are before I kill you._

_You Order runts always die too proudly for my taste._

_If you want the tail of the piggy I slaughtered, then you have to look at where the last happy day all of you spent together was. It’s buried by the lake._

Harry wanted to tear off the top part so that Remus could never read it. Harry wanted to kill Marcus Nott. Harry wanted a lot of things.

   Tom Riddle had always disgusted him for obvious reasons, but there was logic to behind why Riddle did what he did. He was born while his mother was under the effects of a love potion. He was a product of rape, and at least a thousand defects had to come from the potion. Sometimes, on better days, Harry felt sorry for him.

   The kind of person Harry would never feel sorry for were sadists. Bellatrix, Nott Sr., Crouch, the lot of them were monsters.

   They enjoyed hurting people, and not in the way that Draco enjoyed hurting Harry in bed. That was consensual and mutually beneficially. People often mistook that sort of sadism for the levels that people like Rabastan Lestrange felt. They blamed BDSM for triggering violence, when Harry always thought of it as romantic.

   And just like that, Harry’s thoughts were back on Draco.

   Draco’s hands, Draco’s lips, that trunk of sex toys they’d yet to unpack in the new house…

   When Harry thought of Draco, he didn’t want to kill anybody anymore. Not even Marcus Nott. Being with Draco was like having someone yank him out of the water he was drowning in, falling deeper with each road bump and tragedy he encountered in his life. Draco always pulled him up.

   All Harry wanted to do was go home and see him after a day of paperwork about Benjy Fenwick, a person, who had been reduced to a bone. But he couldn’t go home while he was on patrol.

   At least that was what a break to clear your mind was in Auror Speak. It really was silly that the Ministry paid for Aurors to walk around London aimlessly just to remind everyone that the law was omnipresent.

   It reminded Harry of some muggle movie he once watched where the government put chips in people’s heads to make sure they didn’t break the law. Madness.

   At least he had actually cleared his mind rather than stewed over the letter.

   Also, Remus and Sirius hadn’t died. Ha! What a spite to Nott that must have turned out to be, considering he was stuck in a cell for the rest of his miserable life. That was hardly a life at all.

   Yet another spite against Nott was his son. Theo had grown up to be the opposite of him, and wouldn’t even pass on the Nott name when he married. It would die with him, and it would make Marcus furious.

   For that, Harry let himself smile. Theo was the gayest.

   While silently celebrating and appreciating his friend’s sexuality, Harry almost forgot to watch where he was going.

   He walked right into a man staring at a window display of robes.

   “Oh, sorry, I—“ the other man said nervously, only seeing the Auror insignia. If he was caught like this, then he knew it would be hell all over again.

   Dudley Dursley wasn’t even supposed to know about wizards, let alone be prowling around wizarding parts of town.

   “Harry?”

   “ _Dudley_?”

   “Holy shit,” he laughed nervously at his cousin. “I thought they were going to kick me out of here again. I had no idea you were one of the wizard police.”

   “I’m actually Head Auror.” Okay, maybe it was bragging, but Dudley had been a little shit to him in childhood and some showing off of Harry’s success felt warranted.

   Dudley nodded. “Cool. That’s, uh, cool. How’ve you been?”

   “What are you doing here?” Harry asked, knowing it was rude the second he said it. The wonderful part was that he didn’t care about being rude to a Dursley.

   “Um.” Dudley looked around nervously. “Look, I just don’t want to get caught in another magic place and have them try to erase my memory, okay? I’ll explain somewhere else.”

   Though the whole thing struck him as bizarre, but Harry needed answers as to what the hell ‘Big D’ was doing even thinking about magic after Auntie Petunia had made him detest it so much as a child.

   He led Dudley out of the small collection of wizarding shops to a nearby muggle restaurant chain. It was all bright colors and screaming kids playing on some whirring and buzzing machines in the west wing of the restaurant, and exhausted-looking parents on the east side that seemed grateful for the break.

   “Suzy loves this place,” Dudley remarked as he grabbed a seat, seemingly familiar with the setting.

   “Suzy?” Was that a girlfriend or something?

   Dudley whipped out his wallet to reveal a parade of pictures. It was the first time Harry had really gotten to look at his cousin in a long, long time.

   He’d lost a great deal of the baby fat that haunted him and replaced it all with muscle. His body reflected his hobby of wrestling, which he enjoyed comparing to fight club in order to escape the boredom of his day job of accounting.

   In the pictures, he was next to a woman with rosy cheeks and a wide smile. There was a wedding photo, a photo of a baby in her arms at the hospital, and a collection of pictures of the little girl as she grew. In the last one, she looked about three.

   “She’s beautiful,” Harry said quietly, feeling a pang in his heart when he realized Dudley had kids before him.

   “Trying to hit on my wife, Potter?” Dudley teased with a sniveling smile that strangely enough had no malice to it like it used to.

   “Oh, obviously. You know how crazy I am about women.”

   Dudley nodded. “So you’re still…?”

   “Gay? What?” he laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be? That’s not the sort of thing that changes with age, you know. It’s a bit of a permanent fix.”

   “Sorry!” he apologized quickly, putting his hands up defensively.

   Oh, Harry could smell this spiel from a mile away. Straight men had been saying the exact same thing to him for years, and Ron had actually been the only one to spare him this talk.

   “I just, uh, wanted to make sure. I don’t think it’s a choice! It’s totally not! I support, like, gay rights and stuff, you know? My wife, Theresa, she has these two lesbian friends from work. Their wedding was really nice, and that should be legalized everywhere, you know? It’s only right—“

   “Dudley.”

   It really was a wonder to Harry why the man who’d picked on him so much as a kid was so concerned with offending him. In reality, it was because Dudley had picked on Harry so much. It was simple and overwhelming guilt. “Sorry,” the burly man laughed.

   “Don’t be,” Harry shrugged. That was what he was trying to say when he stopped him.

   “Do you, er, have a boyfriend?”

   What the hell was this, twenty questions? “I have a husband, yeah.”

   “Oh! Congratulations, mate,” Dudley said nervously. Oh, if Draco were here, the hate that would be radiating off of his body.

   He was just the slow, bumbling sort that Draco despised, and he had at one point bullied Harry Potter. That was his job and his job only.

   “Tell me what you’re doing on this side of town.”

   “It’s Suzy,” Dudley murmured, realizing that he had annoyed his cousin enough with his presence. “She, uh. A couple weeks ago, she made the house flood with cookies. And I mean _flood_. Cookies in the closets, cookies in the bathrooms, cookies falling out of the windows…” The crumbs would never be out of the house.

   On the list of things Harry had been expecting to hear that afternoon, that certainly was not one of them. “Your daughter’s a witch,” he said aloud, feeling astonished.

   From a nearby table, a couple looked at them like they were crazy. Harry often forgot that witch could be used as an insult because he knew so many brilliant and caring witches. “Yeah,” Dudley said as he lowered his voice. “And I tried to contact you, but the people in your building said you had moved.”

   “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “My husband and I just bought a new house.”

   “Ah, so we’re in the same mortgage boat, huh? Tied to that home for life, am I right?”

   Harry shook his head. “Not exactly.” It would have probably been terribly inappropriate for him to mention the wealth he had both inherited and married into. “But what do you need from me?”

   “Well,” Dudley snarked as if it were obvious. “I have absolutely no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do to get her to stop.”

   “She can’t stop being a witch,” Harry cut in.

   “No, not like that! Agh, everything I’m saying is coming out wrong. She can be a witch, I’m not my mother, but I would prefer not having to wake up to flying pillows and dancing plates,” he explained quickly.

   Harry let out a little laugh. Maybe he was being too harsh on Dudders, who as of yet hadn’t seemed to want to hurt him. “I can get you in contact with a specialist on baby magic. It’s not illegal yet because she has no idea what she’s doing, but when she can properly talk and walk, she’ll have needed to learn how to control it. Then when she’s eleven, she’ll go to Hogwarts.”

   That was a monumental idea. A Dursley at Hogwarts.

   “Oh,” Dudley said, shifting uncomfortably. “What it like there? I should have asked when we were younger.”

   “Don’t worry about it. My years in Hogwarts were some of the best of my life, and all of the teachers there—“ now that Snape was gone “—are absolutely kind and wonderful, and it’s a great school. For free.”

   That last part seemed to grab Dudley’s attention. He’d almost forgotten about that.

   “So, I’ll just give you the address,” Harry said, whipping a quill and a piece of paper out of his pocket.

   “Woah, woah, woah. How did you fit that in your pocket?”

   Harry grinned. “You’re going to have to get used to things that don’t make sense, Dursley,” he teased. “Magic can do amazing things.” When he finished writing the address, he handed Dudley the paper. For some reason, he hesitated.

   “Harry?” he asked slowly, carefully.

   “That’s my name, yes.”

   “Since you wizards don’t use phones or anything, what’s your address? Not that you have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just… I want to know where to send Christmas cards to, you know?”

   That was also something Harry never thought he’d hear. “Oh. Here,” Harry said, taking the paper so he could flip it over and write his own address down. “I’ve got to get back to work soon, but you can owl—well, you can mail me, alright?”

   “Yeah,” Dudley agreed eagerly. He only knew one person who understood what his beloved and slightly spoiled daughter would be going through in the following years. It scared him. “I’ll do that, then.”

   Harry nodded and made a move to stand.

   “Hey, wait!” Dudley said, feeling massively pathetic. “When do you have to go back to work? Maybe we could grab a meal somewhere that doesn’t have a clown at the door. I mean, if you want to—“

   “Not right now, sorry. I have a case that I’m working on that really needs my attention.”

   Dudley nodded, understanding. Just because he had a day off didn’t mean the rest of the world stopped turning, a lesson that he’d had to learn the hard way from being spoiled when he was a kid, too. “Do you have kids? You and this bloke?” he asked anyway. “Sorry for holding you up, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in a lifetime.”

   “We’re actually adopting soon,” Harry answered with a little smile as he sat back down for a moment. He was Head Auror, after all, and if he was a smidgen late then everyone else could go fuck themselves for all he cared.

   “That’s great stuff, yeah. What’s his name? Your husband, I mean.”

   “Draco,” Harry said with a little laugh. Muggles never could quite grasp the Latin roots that made Draco’s name sound so wildly pretentious. “He was born under the constellation ‘Draconis’, so.”

   Dudley pretended not to be confused. “Oh, that sounds cool. Real cool. How long have you been married?”

   “A year, but I’ve known him since we were children. We went to Hogwarts together, actually,” Harry said, unable to pry himself from any conversation that involved Draco Malfoy-Potter. “But we got together after the war.”

   Oh, right. There was a wizarding war that Dudley had almost forgotten all about. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that war. Probably was pretty nasty stuff.”

   “It was.”

   “Did you two, like, fight together? Like wizards on the telly do?”

   “We were actually on opposite sides,” Harry laughed sickly. “Even though he was never really on their side, he was just trying to keep safe. It’s sort of too complicated to explain in such a short amount of time.”

   Dudley nodded. “Yeah, I get that,” he said as if he at all got that. “And I’m keeping you from work.” There was the guilt again.

   “Yeah.” This time, Harry got up and left the clown-nose red seat behind for good. “I guess I’ll wait for the letter then, hm?” He honestly wasn’t hoping too hard for it, but it was still in the back of his mind. “Bye.”

   Just as Harry got to the door, he looked back and saw Dudley following him like a lost puppy. “One last thing. I promise.”

   “What?”

   “How,” he asked, lowering his voice again, “do you know that our next kid might not be… Or might be, you know.”

   “I don’t know. Even the best researchers can’t figure out why some kids are magic and some are muggles. After all, that was what happened with your mother and mine,” Harry said honestly.

   “Yeah. Sorry. Your mother and mine.”


	18. Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! I have had the craziest last couple of weeks. I have an acting manager, finals are coming up, and I’ve been leveling two new characters on WoW.

**Chapter 18: Open**

   “We were idiots,” Sirius told his husband fondly as they flipped through the notebook of Marauder scribbles and doodles. It was necessary for Sirius to keep it together and smile during this, because Remus was most certainly not keeping it together or smiling. One of them had to.

   Numbly, Remus nodded. “We still sort of are. Not quite to the caliber that we used to be, but still rather big poncey idiots.”

   In messy red ink at the top of the page they were looking at, James had written ‘BIG PONCEY IDIOTS’ after Sirius had scribbled some notes to Remus.

   Sirius quickly responded with a ‘YOU ARE A BIGGER PONCE THAN REMUS AND I COULD EVER BE’ in his signature black ink. Peter had circled it with his pencil for emphasis. He always used to side with Sirius in fake spats because he liked to see James all flustered.

   The next page that they turned to was clearly an attempt made by Prongs to prove his heterosexuality.

    In the corner, ‘Lily Evans’ was written three times with different flourishes so he could see what the best sort of font was for his Lilyflower. The second font was apparently best, because James then used it to write a poem in her honor. It was raunchy, stupid, and so characteristically James.

   ‘ _Dearest Lily,_

_Your breasts are like hill-ies—“_

   Sirius had cut in to finish up the poem, which James had rather liked.

_‘I’d like to make them come alive,_

_With the SOOOOUND OF MUUUUUSIC_ ’

   “When was I such a musical fanatic? When the hell did that movie even come out?” Sirius asked with a laugh to try and get the conversation away from dead James and dead Lily and dead Wormtail.

   Remus took the bait. “What I want to know is how Walburga let a muggle movie past you into the house.”

   “I think she found it and smacked me. Then again, who can remember when I’ve probably got brain damage from the smacking? Oh, look here.” Sirius pointed to a drawing on the page.

   Underneath a sentence that most likely made sense in context (‘tonight the teddy bears have their orgy!’) was a sketch of Miss Lily Evans herself. It was clearly something James had drawn in class, since she looked rather unaware that her boyfriend was focused on the detailing of her frilly skirt.

   She was sitting in the Charms classroom and laughing, and out of frame was probably Marlene or Dorcas or Alice or anyone, really. Even though the Marauders were about as cool as a sack of soggy chocolate frogs, Lily was still popular as ever.

   Why wouldn’t she be?

   Lily was gorgeous. Lily was Head Girl of Gryffindor. Lily knew Arithmancy better than anyone in her grade. Lily had wild tales of growing up muggle and even wilder tales of what she was finally able to do when she found out she was a witch. Lily got perfect grades and had an even better relationship with her professors. Her pants were high-waisted and tight, her back was covered in freckles, and she never even cared that it made boys insane.

   Frank Longbottom had a little crush on her red braids in second year, Kingsley Shacklebolt was in love with her maxi-dresses and nimble fingers for most of his fourth year, Severus Snape was in love with her confidence and body, and once James Potter hit puberty, he added to her group of fanboys.

   Of course, he’d been a dumb teenage boy and went about it all wrong, but Remus and Sirius had desperately tried to steer him in the right wooing direction.

   That took some serious effort on their part to make sure James wasn’t in love with her braids, her hands, her style, or her body, but he loved Lily Evans for Lily Evans. He was the first. Her first.

   Remus turned the page. “Really?”

   “What?”

   “You couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without drawing a penis?”

   “I was a preoccupied young man,” Sirius defended with a laugh in reference to his crude doodle. “You liked that.”

   “I still like that,” Remus pointed out. “But you don’t carve phalluses into everything you touch now, which is something I appreciate highly.” Even the forever-young Sirius Black had matured. He was a Lupin now, anyway.

   He shrugged. “Maybe I do and you’ve just gotten used to it. Hey, you know what we should do? We should go back to the Quidditch pitch and find where I—“ Then he remembered. The pitch had been burned down. “Um. We should go where I made that carving of our names and carve it in the new pitch.”

   Remus smiled and looked down to the notebook again so he could turn the page. “Yeah, we should.”

   When Remus looked up, he saw the door to their room slowly creaking open. “Remus?” a little voice asked, unsure. “Sirius?”

   “In here, Liv,” Sirius called eagerly, lighting up immediately that his daughter-thing and his soulmate-thing were in the same room at the same time. Padfoot was an easily-pleased man.

   The bruise around her lip where the wolf had slammed its snout into a tree was almost gone. “Hey,” Olivia said before crawling onto the bed with them, tucking her knees in close to her chest. “What’s this?”

   “Just some things we had back when we were in school,” Remus shrugged off, loath to show a thirteen year-old girl his friends’ erotic ramblings from their teenage years. “Tell me the exhilarating tale of your afternoon.”

   “I’ve just been watching television,” Olivia laughed. She’d never been so unproductive in her entire life and it was the most refreshing thing in the world. “And writing to friends.”

   That caught Sirius’ attention. “Hm? Any that I’ve met? Moony, you really should bring me to show-and-tell more often.” The class loved petting Padfoot!

   “Just Catherine, Rita, and Alex.”

   “Oh, I remember that one!” Sirius exclaimed with pride. It was proof he wasn’t getting so old that he would lose his memory. “The Gryffindor, the one that knocked out a Death Eater without knowing it. I like that one.” Well, he was always fond of people who protected his husband, even if it was unknowing. “How is that one?”

   “He’s good. Really good. They found him a couple of foster parents nearby and they own an Italian restaurant,” she explained.

   Remus smiled. Alex was a good kid, and Italian food was a proper reward for that. “We’ll have to go there sometime.”

   “Yes!” She couldn’t even stop the exclamation from escaping her. Alex was a wonderful friend. Maybe her best friend. “I mean, if you want to.”

   “Sure we do.” Sirius saw it as an opportunity to bond over food, which was his favorite kind of bonding. “How about tomorrow night, hm? Just give us an address and we’re there.” He paused. “Sorry that there’s not too many kids on this street. Or the next street over. Or the one after that. Hey, at least that makes you the belle of the ball if we ever have a block party!”

   “I know how hard it was to be away from friends during the summer. My parents lived in a rather small and old-fashioned town, and the only person within ten years of my age was a youth pastor that had come to study there,” Remus recalled, knowing how awfully he had missed the Marauders and one in particular.

   “You know what we should do?” Sirius said, voice climbing in excitement. “Even better than carving our names in places. We should throw you a wild party, Olivia. We could invite all of your friends from school and make sure you see each other before you’re all trapped in learning again. No offense, Remus.”

   “None taken. You’re a terrible student.”

   “Now I’m offended!”

   Their bantering made Olivia chuckle. She wondered if she’d ever seen them actually argue about something serious. “Like, a real party?” she asked. That had only been possible in muggle movies where the parents were out of town and accidentally left the liquor cabinet unlocked. Olivia didn’t even want to drink.

   “Of course,” Remus told her. “With fantastic music and even better food. Would you like that?”

   All of that holding back she’d been able to break through with the two men suddenly swelled back up in her chest like a mushroom cloud. Who was she to make them pay for a party? What if they broke something? What if something went wrong?

   “I would like that,” Olivia said carefully in spite of herself.

   Then she could see Alex.

   Alexander. Alex. Lex.

   He had eyes like cups of coffee and they made her feel warm. Once she realized she was thinking about the way his dimples shot up when he smiled, Olivia knew she was in deeper than anything she had experienced before.

   Alex was kind to her, and his always built her up to walk taller. The inklings of a possible first crush were becoming steady streams, and she could do nothing about it. The whole thing made her feel scared enough to puke.

   “So, tomorrow night?” Olivia questioned quietly. Maybe—just possibly—she wasn’t doomed. For no apparent reason, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining through on her life that portended a strangely successful summer.

   Okay, that was immediately a mood swing from her first sense of dread, but she was thirteen. Thirteen! Thirteen and liking a boy!

   It made her feel feverish.

   Maybe she could go to the restaurant with Remus and Sirius and see Alex there and the world wouldn’t end. Maybe, she could have a party and invite him and all her friends and nothing would break and she would have a great time.

   It was the first optimistic thought she’d had in years.

   “Tomorrow night,” Sirius affirmed. “Now, do you want tonight’s dinner? I could heat up some Chinese food.”

   “Sounds great.”

   They evacuated the bed in a rush to fill their stomachs. Sirius would be damned if he let a meal go by after starving for years in Azkaban. He’d promised himself behind those bars that he would never think about how a chicken wing would go to his thighs or how a cake could give him a little belly. Happiness was more important than vanity.

   And when it came to fried rice and orange chicken, Sirius always had a second serving.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The confession had seemingly come out of thin air.

   “ _What_?” Ginny demanded in a high pitch that almost sounded like a squeal.

   “Um,” Blaise tried again. His sweatpants suddenly felt oppressively hot. Legs crossed on the couch and a pillow in his lap, he was in a rather vulnerable position. “I said that I don’t think that I’m made for monogamy.”

   Ginny Weasley had never been so close to punching Blaise Zabini in her whole life. “So you’ve been sleeping around on me?” she roared, the Gryffindor lioness within her coming alive with her anger. “You lying bastard!”

   “I haven’t been,” Blaise defended quickly. He put his hands up as a sign of submission.

   “ _What_?”

   “I haven’t been! Salazar, Gin, I wouldn’t do that to you! That’s why I’m talking to you now.”

   “To ask permission to cheat on me?” she snapped.

   “No! Please, I didn’t want to make you upset,” Blaise said as he rose. His crotch was in a comfortable range for Ginny to hex on the couch, and Blaise hadn’t fully explained himself.

   Her eyes cut through him like he was made of clay. “I don’t care what you meant to do. I honestly don’t. I have no idea where you get off in telling me that suddenly you think you can’t be in a relationship right after we watch a goddamn movie together. ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ does not usually evoke feelings of adultery!”

   “It’s not adultery! Salazar, I haven’t done anything! I wanted to talk to you about this, because I’m not feeling so secure right now, and I give a fuck about you. Would you prefer I never tell you and keep all of this a secret?”

   She almost wished she could say yes. “No.”

   “Then, please, can we talk about this?” he asked. Blaise had a terrible feeling he sounded desperate, which was his least favorite state of being. “This wasn’t exactly easy for me to admit.”

   The last thing Ginny wanted to hear about was Blaise’s struggle with being constantly horny, but the twinge of sadness in his voice held her back from screaming at him.

   “Well. What about this deserves talking about? What’s your best-case scenario here?”

   “I don’t know.”

   “Then name a possible scenario. Any, Blaise. Any one where I am not entirely miserable and cross with you,” Ginny suggested in a sarcastic whine.

   Blaise began his terrible habit of nervously pacing around their hardwood floor. In bare feet, he could feel every little crack and indentation. They really needed to get the damn place refurbished. “I think,” he tried. “One could be where I explain that I don’t want other people romantically. You’re more than enough for me, Gin. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

   “I’m aware.” Her arms crossed over her chest, but something about that out-of-character admission on Blaise’s behalf had piqued her interest.

   “You are all I need emotionally and all of that gay bullshit,” Blaise went on before Ginny cut him off.

   “Really, Blaise? You’re gonna call it ‘gay’?”

   “Hey, Draco is gay and he’s one of my best friends.”

   Ginny rolled her eyes. “Then don’t you think he doesn’t use race in an offensive way because of you?”

   “Oh, I don’t know!”

   “So you want to be in a relationship with me,” she tried to clarify. “But you want to fuck other people.”

   “You know, fucking doesn’t constitute a relationship. I could probably not even name half of the girls I’ve slept with in my life.”

   This time, her eyes rolled so far back into her head she could have sworn they did a backflip. “That really reassures me, Blaise. Thanks so much for that. Definitely needed it right now.”

   “Okay, so maybe I’m not getting my point across too well,” he sighed.

   “Maybe?” Ginny laughed, leaning back onto the wall where the television was mounted. It was absurd to laugh, but her whole life had been rather absurd from the moment she was born into a family of nothing but boys and a doting mother.

   Then she dated some stupid boys, some gay boys, and some ridiculous boys, and then a war happened. Ginny had the distinct feeling that normal people did not endure that, and probably only dated one or two bad matches in their life and only thought of war as an idea in textbooks and philosophical discussions.

   There were probably kids out there who were in favor of wars between countries and groups because their parents were. They’d never get on the battlefield themselves, but they would stick their noses up in the air in history class when their opinion was asked for and say: ‘Sometimes, war is necessary’.

   Ginny wondered if that was what made Blaise so uneasy. They’d almost died one day, and maybe he was afraid it would happen again while he hadn’t experienced everything out there.

   Whatever his reasoning, it confused the hell out of Ginny.

   “You realize how crazy you sound, right?”

   “Yeah,” Blaise laughed right back. “I do. But would it be so awful? I mean, you could be there. And you could sleep with other guys!”

   Ginny could hardly believe what she was hearing. “And you wouldn’t be jealous?”

   “Not if you come back home to me in the end, no. I mean, you’re a woman, right? Okay, duh, you’re a woman, but that’s not what I mean. You have complex needs just like I do. Do you really want to get married and only sleep with one man your entire life?”

   “That’s what most people do, yeah,” she reminded him. Not that she hadn’t thought about men on opposite Quidditch teams in post-game showers. She was only human, right? “And don’t you dare say ‘we’re not most people’ with some charming smile and some bullshit wit.”

   Ginny had caught him there. “Fine. But don’t fifty percent of marriages end in divorce or something?” he tried.

   “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

   “Maybe it’s monogamy. I mean, people like Draco and Harry can do it. They can be stupid and crazy about each other forever so sickly and so completely, but I don’t think everyone can do that. It doesn’t mean that I love you less, it just means that I’m not them.”

   A shiver ran through Ginny’s frame. Had he just…? “You love me. You love me and you tell me just minutes after you tell me you’d like to fuck some strangers?” she asked quietly, calmly. The whole thing was so absurd that she didn’t quite know how to react, so she just didn’t. Ginny was calm and placid.

   “Oh. Shit.”

   Blaise really hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. How could he be such a dumbarse? He’d wanted to tell for weeks and this was the moment he picked?

   “You have terrible timing.”

   “I know.”

   “You’re also a bit of an idiot.”

   “I know.”

   Twisting a lock of bright orange hair, Ginny let a moment of silence pass between them. “So when you say sleeping with other people, can I be in the room when that happens?”

   Never in her life had Ginny seen her boyfriend look more like an attentive puppy who had just been told he was going on a walk. “Like, a threesome?” he asked, absolutely thrilled. Blaise had the best girlfriend in the world. The absolute and complete best.

   “No,” Ginny corrected, cutting his hopes in half before revealing what she was really after. “There can definitely be more than three people involved.”

   And just like that, Blaise did a wildly sappy thing he would never admit to after he did it. He wrapped his arms around his girl and squeezed her tight.

   When Ginny squeezed back, she felt like letting out one of those nervous laughs again, but it wasn’t out of nerves. In a weird way, it was out of relief. Blaise’s eyes had wandered, but he’d never been with anyone else while they were together. Ginny believed that; she really did.

   If it didn’t work or she got too jealous, Ginny knew she could always call it off. She loved that lug of a man right back, but if they didn’t want the same things… She had been there and done that with too many men.

   “It’ll be an adventure,” Ginny decided in order to make the best of her odd situation. Maybe she’d wind up enjoying it too. “Yeah, an adventure.”

   “How Gryffindor of you.”

   “Shut up.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The store had entirely overwhelmed Harry where it had invigorated his husband. Draco had grabbed a shopping cart faster than Harry could ask to pause for a moment and consider their options, so it seemed that they were really doing this.

   “Where do we even start?” Harry asked, unsure. The neon-bright walls of the veritable toy palace off of Diagon Alley made his head hurt, but they all seemed to be color-coordinated with a type of toy.

   Draco offered Harry his arm as a group of screeching children in face-paint scampered around them and over to the stuffed animal section. “We’re going to need teething rings, strollers, gym sets, and lots of plushies.” Imperiously, Draco grabbed a scanner gun from the counter so they could begin registering items for the baby shower.

   Hermione and Pansy had managed to agree on one thing in their lives, and that one thing was a party to welcome the Malfoy-Potter baby. Hermione would be make cookies and Pansy would design the invitations.

   “How many toys does a baby even need?”

   “Lots! They need to have things that stimulate their cognitive abilities and make them feel calm enough and tired enough to not to cry all night and wake us up. The goal,” Draco said, activating the scanner gun so he could swipe over a bright ordnance walker with charmed dancing zebras on it. “Is to keep them as spoiled as possible.”

   “As the cousin of a spoiled brat,” Harry laughed. “I wonder how good of an idea that is.”

   “You married a spoiled brat, too, so clearly you don’t hate it that much. Plus, when we have more than one kid we’ll never prefer one to the other. We’ll spoil them equally.”

   Harry knew he would be on board with that. When he saw his little baby gurgle in his arms and reach up for Papa, there would be no holding back on Harry’s lavish and unending attention. “I guess you’re right.”

   “I’m always right,” Draco teased before following the route the pack of children had gone and walking towards the aisles of stuffed and smiling friends.

   One immediately caught Harry’s eye. “This one looks just like the one you have in your old room!” he said, grabbing onto a soft green dragon.

   Oh, how Draco wished Harry had forgotten about Maurice, the stuffie of his youth. Narcissa had to sew one of the eyes back on after it fell off and Draco cried for at least an hour. It was a well-loved toy, was all.

   “So scan it,” he laughed as if he wasn’t at all reminiscing about his own days snuggling up next to a stuffed dragon in bed. He had Harry in his bed now, who was much more responsive. “We could get them a snake, too, to make sure they get into the best Hogwarts house.”

   “Not sure how a snake would help them into Gryffindor.”

   Draco rolled his eyes and scanned over a pink seahorse plushie that sang a lullaby whenever it was activated by a spell.

   “Is this too soon?” Harry asked when he saw. “We don’t even know if the baby is a boy or a girl, or who its bloody mother will be.”

   “Nonsense. We can register any colors of toys we want. I won’t have my child held back the way I was with blue,” Draco retorted. “And what if the kid is transgender? Then they’re going to have a rather easy time coming out to us.”

   Harry hadn’t even thought about that. “What if the kid is gay?”

   “We disown them, obviously. I can’t have homosexual sins in our household.”

   “Draco!” he laughed.

   “I would prefer the kid to be gay,” Draco shrugged as he transitioned out of joking. He scanned a unicorn plushie for good measure in hopes of inducing a little queerer in their already queer household. “Then I don’t have to worry about becoming a grandfather and I can recommend all the best bars.”

   “Lucius would probably perish in frustration.”

   “Maybe it was what the Malfoy line was destined to be,” he laughed. “Full of homophobes until transitioning right to exclusively gay heirs.”

   Draco passed the scanner gun to Harry so that he could grab a stuffed puppy that resembled Sirius at the end of the aisle to scan. “Well, I am all for being the overbearing parents of the Hogwarts Gay-Straight Alliance. We could bake brownies and bring them to each meeting while breathing down everyone’s necks.”

   “Aw. Our baby will never, ever be embarrassed by us.”

   “Not even when we scream at their Quidditch games?”

   “Not even when we scream at their Wizarding chess games,” Draco nodded.

   As they traversed the teething rings aisle and Draco took over, Harry had a moment to think. “If the kid is gay, or bi, or trans, or anything other than binary and straight, the press will think we did something to them.”

   “Fuck the press. It’s a one-in-ten chance based on pure statistics. Those super-religious families who have like fifteen kids are guaranteed a queer one.”

   “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I’m not saying we would hide it from the press. I just… I dunno. I don’t want The Prophet spreading lies about our baby and us.”

   Draco stopped perusing the plastic toys and turned to Harry, gently wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders. “Hey. They’re going to spread lies no matter what the baby likes, does, or hates. I thought you were okay with getting into this while we were still being watched by the public.”

   “We’ll never not be watched by the public, I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t have to want to hex them.”

   “Does the Head Auror get to do that?” Draco asked before nudging his forehead against Harry’s cheek.

   “Mhm.”

   “Good.”

   Harry tilted his head to the side so he could sneak a kiss in against Draco’s temple. From behind them, the pack of kids giggled.

   Draco laughed and looked over to them and their horrified parents. “Think they’re Prophet photographers in disguise?” he asked Harry in a hushed, conspiratory tone.

   “Oh, definitely,” his husband nodded.

   Scanner gun in one hand and Harry’s hand in the other, Draco laughed at their audience and led his fellow future-father away.


	19. Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I have four real days of school left. I think I’m going to cry. SUMMER IS SO CLOSE I CAN TASTE IT AAAAGHHH! I’m gonna write so much fic this summer. TW for dumb cishets.

**Chapter 19: Sick**

   Well, that had gone spectacularly worse than expected. Who knew her aunt and uncle were capable of that much rage? It was like they waited all of Grace’s life to let their anger it blow up in her face at seventeen.

   They’d never been particularly skilled in disciplining her from the day she was put in their care. Grace took full advantage of that—because what was the point in having dead parents if you couldn’t use them to get what you want?—and could have gotten away with murder as a little girl.

   Apparently, she couldn’t get away with making life as a grown woman.

   “Watch it, bitch,” a burly man said when she bumped into him. He had a pack of men around him, and seemed to be the alpha male.

   Grace gritted her teeth. “Sorry,” she growled just to get them off of her back.

   “Hey, Nathan, she’s kinda hot.”

   “Hey,” Grace said as she turned around to face them, her own frustration exploding like he aunt and uncles’ had. “Nathan, I’m kinda seventeen. That means I’m a legal child, you fucking paedophiles!”

   Even for Grace, this was extreme. She hated leering men and whistling construction workers and often flipped them the bird, but that night especially was not the night to fuck with her. She’d been kicked out of her house with a backpack of clothes and her best friend was on a useless vacation to the Bahamas. She didn’t have much to lose.

   The gaggle of men gawked in silent awe. They looked like they were in their forties (maybe with children of their own) and were clearly horrified.

   Satisfied with herself for the first time in months, Grace spun on her heels and proceeded down the sidewalk. Maybe it was the fear of the men retaliating and running after her or maybe it was the shop lights in the distance of the alley, but she started running.

   This time she was wary not to run into any other patrons of the night. Grace’s heels were only an inch high, so she was able to sprint without falling flat on her face. Actually, with the baby bump, it’d be flat on her uterus. Ew.

   When she couldn’t stand to run anymore, Grace was entirely out of breath. She leaned over and rested her hands on her knees to pant like a goddamn dog. Pregnancy was hell.

   Grace didn’t know why, but it reminded her that she had literally nowhere to go. Tiff was gone, her other friends didn’t even know about the pregnancy, and there were no extended family members in the area. She was alone.

   Alone, alone, alone minus the baby gestating in her.

   In order to distract herself from that horribly looming fact, she walked on.

   Grace walked past robe boutiques and restaurants that blended together into one stream of neon signs until she found her way back to the main street of Diagon Alley and picked a damn store to walk into already. Then, she could use the bathroom and clean herself up before she went around searching for women’s’ shelters or something.

   A charmed glass wind-chime signaled her arrival in the potions shop, and from the back room, a man shouted: “Be there in a second!”

   The shopkeeper could drown in his potion for all Grace cared. “Um, excuse me?”

   “One second!”

   “Do you have a bathroom?”

   “Oh. Next to the rack of strength potions there’s a door, and the ladies’ room is on the right,” Theo explained as he turned the golden ring over and over again in his hands. Maybe if he dropped it in the fire-breathing potion he was making, then perhaps he could forget entirely about his wanting to marry his boyfriend.

   Slipping the ring back in his pocket, Theo made his way back to the front of the shop. He’d check on the potion in an hour like he usually did.

   After a few seemingly eternal minutes, the woman who asked for the directions to the bathroom emerged once more.

   Theo narrowed his eyes. Where did he know her from? “Can I help you find anything?” he asked, leaning over the counter to try and get a better look at Grace. She was in sweatpants and a baggy green shirt as if somebody had dragged her out of bed.

   Being the gossip addict that she was, Grace hadn’t missed a beat in figuring out that this was the potion shop owned by the Nott heir. “Actually,” Grace said carefully, tucking her uncombed hair behind her ears. It didn’t really work since palms were clammy and she still hadn’t quite caught her breath yet. “There is something I was looking for.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Ron shuddered. “How many times can I say this is fucked up before it gets redundant?”

   “As many as you want,” Harry murmured as he peered down into the trench they had gotten to digging. With Remus and Sirius at their sides, they’d found the location of Sirius’ end of the school year and end of the school existence bash.

   He’d picked a sandy bank by the edge of the lake and draped garland and Christmas lights around the trees, Remus had brought snacks, James had gotten the booze and gillyweed, and Peter had set up a watch to make sure nobody figured out that all of Gryffindor House was partying it up near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

   After an unfortunate game of strip poker, everyone wound up being naked down to their underwear and decided that skinny dipping was the next logical step to be taken.

   It scared Sirius that Nott Sr. had somehow known that it was the last fond memory they all shared before the war. It made him wonder if the creepy bastard had been perched in a tree with a pair of binoculars watching them.

   Harry tossed another shovel full of dirt to the side. They had opted to search near the trees themselves, since digging through sand was probably too tedious for Marcus’ taste.

   A loud ‘clink’ came from whatever Ron’s shovel had struck. “Hey, I think this is it!”

   Everyone involved was so eager to get the search over with that they all lunged to brush the loose earth off of the metal box.

   Hand on his wand, Remus was the first to raise the box out of the hole they’d dug on Hogwarts property. It felt wrong to defile such hallowed ground, but it was necessary. That, and he’d plant a new bushel of flowers there so nobody could tell he was snooping around.

   It was easier just to do things and apologize instead of asking for permission.

   “Let’s just open it.”

   Sirius agreed with his husband wholeheartedly and broke the rusty hinges to pry the damn thing open.

   Whatever bone or horrible atrocity Harry and Ron had been expecting, it certainly didn’t manifest in front of them. “What… What the hell is that?” Ron asked.

   “A shoe,” Harry said plainly. “It’s a shoe.”

   A red high tops converse shoe, to be exact.

   Sirius’ stomach churned. “Give me that,” he hissed, snatching up the footwear so he could get a look inside.

   “Are they…?” Remus asked gently.

   “Yeah.”

   “What’s going on?” Ron pressed on. “What’s in the shoe?” Maybe it was just a prettily-wrapped atrocity.

   When Sirius slammed the shoe back into the box, Harry stepped towards him. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Benjy, does it?” he murmured.

   The animagus promptly chucked the Chuck Taylors with ‘P.P.’ written on the inner seam into the lake. The splash it made was not nearly as satisfying as it should be. “Nothing to do with him.”

   “Hey!” Maybe Harry, Remus, and Sirius were speaking some sort of secret gay body language, but Ron hadn’t a clue what was going on. “What was that for?”

   “Sirius went through a pirate phase,” Remus said as if that explained everything perfectly.

   “It wasn’t a phase, Moony. I am still a pirate.”

   “And he went through a map-making phase.”

   “Also not a phase!”

   Remus tried to think of a time other than the making of the Marauders Map where Padfoot exercised cartography and failed to find any memories. “Sure. Anyway, in fourth year he sent us on a buried treasure hunt after having stolen some of our favorite things,” he went on. “He kidnapped my Fitzgerald books, James’ glasses, and Wormtail’s shoe. It was cruel that way, since he only had one shoe to run around in.”

   “I should have buried him.”

   It seemed that just when things were going well (Olivia and their dinner that night, getting more parts of their ‘missing’ friend) Peter came back into the picture and fucked it up.

   Remus wished Peter had been an outlier. He wished Peter was just a tag-a-long who they could have predicted betrayal from. There was no predicting betrayal from your best friends.

   And that was what Peter had been, after all. A true Marauder for the first sixteen years of his life.

   “Let’s keep digging,” Harry suggested grimly. “We need to get out of here in time for you two to pick up Olivia for dinner.” He picked the shovel and started to dig west of the original hole.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Draco wrapped up his shift with a satisfied smile.

   The Llewellyn Ward was full of exciting creature injuries that day that Draco had gotten around to healing.

   Stings from giant scorpions, bites from charmed pythons, and even a burn from a salamander all took up Draco’s sweet time without stressing him out too much. That was the glory of patient patients. Screaming children, scared spouses, and panicked injury victims only made things worse, and Draco was grateful for the fact that he’d only dealt with civilized people that day.

   “Checking out?” Maggie asked with a small grin from her position at the front desk.

   “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The redhead leaned over the desk to give Draco a flick on the side of the head. “What was that for!”

   She shrugged. “That’s from Pansy. She made it very clear that you needed one.”

   “For what?” Draco laughed. How had he wronged the Princess as of late?

   “Just because.” Maggie leaned in as if she had some big secret to tell. “She’s worried sick that you won’t get drunk with her after you get a baby. You know how Princess gets scared when her booze is brought into question.”

   “She was worried about the same thing when I got married. I hope she realizes ‘having babies’ and ‘settling down’ are different things. I don’t think I’m even capable of the latter. When the kids are old enough to floo with us, we’re going on wild and exotic vacations with them. There will be at least two nights a week when Harry and I go out with just one another, and Pansy will have the pleasure of babysitting.”

   That made her girlfriend smile. “I’ll be sure to let her know. Also, you got a few owls after you went to see that hag with the dragon burn.”

   Draco shivered, repulsed at the memory. The burn had been all over her milky, wrinkly thighs. An oh, the sheer multitude of liver spots. Whatever she had tried to do with the baby dragon, the animal was not up for it.

   “Thanks,” he said before heading off to the owlery.

   On his way into the employee locker room that connected him to the owl perch where a woman neatly sorted the mail by Healer’s name, Draco was accosted once more.

   “Healer Pye,” he nodded to his boss, hoping they’d merely wave and move on with their separate lives.

   Pye had a stay-at-home wife and liked suede couches. Draco had an arse-kicking husband and despised all things suede, velvet, and corduroy for their disgustingly thick materials. The Pyes and the Malfoy-Potters lived on sides of the track that would never cross in normal circumstances.

   “Healer Malfoy,” the pudgy man said in a strangely conversational tone. “Have you read this morning’s Prophet?”

   “I don’t read The Prophet.”

   “Ah, of course. Most of their articles are about you,” Pye snarked, thinking himself funny. He also thought himself handsome, charming, commanding, and persuasive. None of those things were true.

   Draco didn’t even give him an obliging laugh like he usually did in hopes of a promotion. “Most of their articles are wrong.” The last one Pansy had showed him in jest said that he and Harry were looking to move to a Buddhist temple to find inner peace and spiritual enlightenment. “Interested in my personal life?”

   “I’m interested in you taking time off from work to take care of the five children you’re planning on fostering.”

   A tortured noise escaped Draco. “The Prophet doesn’t know their heads from their arses, okay? Harry and I are adopting one child.” For now.

   “And who will watch this child? I don’t think the Head Auror can just up and leave, but neither can you.” While their personalities often grated, Pye knew he needed the other man. Malfoy-Potter was a brilliant Healer and was willing to work hard for his own ambition. That, and Draco was often requested by high-end patients because of his fame.

   “Well,” Draco muttered. He hadn’t really thought about that. “At two years old they’ll be out of nappies, so I’ll put them in the hospital day-care.” Yeah, that made sense, right? That way their baby could make friends.

   Augustus Pye frowned. “And the first two years? Look, Malfoy, this hospital needs you, as much as I hate to say it.”

   “Ah, yes. It really does need me.” He basked in the praise.

   “You and your modesty. Keep that in mind when making your decision about the first two years of the child’s life, yes?” Pye asked, bordering on patronizing.

   “Yes, yes. I understand, but I can’t make any promises right now,” Draco said dismissively before trying to dash in escape once more.

   Unfortunately, Pye caught Draco by the collar. “I don’t mean to intrude, but there is something I’ve been wondering.” Since in his mind, women were the sole caretakers of children (oh, how his own children would have daddy issues), Pye had been trying to rationalize two men adopting.

   “Fine,” Draco growled. “Intrude away.”

   “Since, uh, you’re clearly the woman in the relationship—“

   “Keep talking and I will hex you into next week, Pye.”

   “What?” he asked, shocked that Draco was offended. “Every couple has to have a female influence and a male influence.”

   Draco’s face twisted in horror. “What? No! The whole point is that we’re both men.”

   “But one of you has to be more feminine, and I figured you always had a sense of _flair_.”

   Hey! Just because Draco was a drama queen it didn’t make him a woman! A woman wasn’t even a bad thing to be, but Draco had always felt distinctly male. “ _What_?” he said in a half-snarl half-laugh due to his shock. “Thank Salazar you don’t work in the psychoanalytics wing.”

   “That’s no way to speak to your superior,” Pye responded while managing to look entirely flustered. Weren’t gay people supposed to be polite to normal straights when they asked them questions about their sex lives? And didn’t gay people have to pick a role? Top or bottom?

   “That’s no way to speak to people in general,” Draco pointed out.

   Ashamed, Pye hung his head down. Years of medical studies had not prepared him for this.

   After letting the silence rot in between them until it had entirely decomposed, Pye gave it a try. “So does that make Potter the woman?”

   Draco let out a tortured groan at the stupidity of it all.

   “I am going to change out of these robes, then I’m going to collect my mail, and then I am going to go home,” he lined up for Pye’s microscopic brain to comprehend. “And you will not ask me any more inane questions, and you will buy a goddamn book and study up. Any questions?”

   Healer Pye opened his mouth to speak. “Wrong!” Draco snapped. “I just said no questions.”

   Before Pye’s cracked lips could open again, Draco had disappeared into the locker room like a ghost in his white robes.

   Those were quickly off of his shoulders once he locked the door behind himself. All the other Healers would just have to live with it.

   “Everyone,” he grumbled to himself. “Is an imbicile.”

   A smooth cotton button-down replaced the white robes with a violet hue, also known as Harry’s Favorite Color. The black trousers were slimming, too. At least Draco looked fit when he was surrounded by idiots.

   Draco slammed his locker shut and tried his best to move on.

   It was unhealthy to cling to grudges, or so he had been told as a child by some Hufflepuff Professor. That didn’t stop him from holding them in the slightest, but it distracted him for the moment on his way to the owlery.

   Draco’s mailbox contained a few patients’ records, test results, and one anxious Theodore Nott’s hastily scribbled letter.

_Your Majesty,_

_Your baby mama is in my potions shop. Come deal with it._

_-Theo_

“What?”

   With a histrionic roll of his eyes, Draco apparated over.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Marcus hadn’t been kind with the clue in the box beneath the earth. Harry almost wished they hadn’t found the damn thing so that Remus wouldn’t have to torture himself in divining the meaning of:

   ‘ _I can’t believe you’re still looking. I would have given up by now. Anyway, the next bit of him is among the begonias. They really do blossom when compost is added to their soil_.’

   Harry didn’t even know what begonias were supposed to look like, which was the cruelest part of all. In his head they were like blackened Venus fly traps by the situation surrounding them. Draco would probably know what they looked like. Maybe he could even get Neville to tell him where the flowers grew natively.

   The damn flowers had distracted Harry so much that he wasn’t even pleased when they realized they’d found Benjy’s hipbone. It looked frail and would definitely never be used to dance or run again.

   People did a lot of things with their hips, Harry realized.

   It was bizarre how Harry hadn’t truly valued his hips for all they were worth his whole life. Where would Harry be without that heart-shaped clump of marrow? Harry couldn’t jump or dodge hexes or make sweet love to his husband without hips, and what sort of life was that?

   Benjy Fenwick probably would know if he wasn’t dead.

   Before Harry entered his beautiful home with its opulent rugs and tastefully-selected throw pillows, Harry had to put that all behind him.

   He took a deep breath, centering himself on their white front door. Draco was within, and with him, the peace that a happy marriage gave him. Safety, sensitivity, and security.

   Even though the thoughts of skeletons missing pieces would probably haunt him for the rest of the night, Harry opened the door and eased into his domain. Unfortunately, his domain was in a state of disarray.

   “Draco, she has nowhere else to go,” Theo hissed. He’d seen his best mate be callous before, but he’d usually been able to talk him down from his high horse. “It’s down to her and some other girl, right?”

   Grace looked like she might jump for joy. “Really?”

   “You can’t fucking tell her that!” Draco responded, enraged.

   Harry cleared his throat to earn all the stairs in the room. “What is going on?” he questioned in an even tone. It was shocking that he was taking the sudden appearance of people in his house so well. Harry had planned on leftover Chinese for Dinner. Harry had planned for a night curled around Draco’s body in bed. Harry had not planned for other people.

   “Harry,” Draco said, rushing up to him only to drag him into the mess by the arm. “She tracked down where Theo worked and coerced him to bring her here.”

   “I didn’t even know it was his shop when I entered!” Grace defended.

   “And I was not coerced.”

   “Wait, wait, wait,” Harry stopped their bickering. “Why are you here and what do you want from us?”

   Grace was flabbergasted, and her usually loquacious nature receded. “Uh. My aunt and uncle sort of kicked me out.”

   “’Sort of’ kicked you out?”

   “Okay, they really kicked me out because they raised me wrong, or whatever. I am beyond help to them, and they were gracious enough to blame it on their own shitty parenting,” Grace reclaimed her voice. “So I wanted to tell you that my living situation has changed. I have no supportive family members.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “And you had to come all the way here to tell us that? What about the friend you were staying with?”

   “She left for holiday with her parents.”

   “With you pregnant and clearly emotionally disturbed?” he almost laughed.

   “With friend like her is it so hard to see why I’m emotionally disturbed?” she tried at humor.

   Oh, Draco was a sucker for dark laughs. “Fair point. But why come to our house?” Draco and Harry had been angry enough with her for the first time.

   It was almost as if Grace Burbage wanted them to hate her. All of her actions seemed counterproductive to convincing the couple of adopting her child, no matter how valiant her attempts. At least the experience showed her that she had no future as a businesswoman or saleswoman.

   “I wanted to see it,” she admitted quietly after waiting to word it perfectly. “The last time I was here I wasn’t entirely of my own volition. It’s magnificent. The color scheme? It’s inspired. The way it plays off of the earth-tone walls—“

   Usually, flattery got people everywhere with Draco. “We haven’t made a decision yet, and you have to realize that this counts against you.”

   Harry felt motivated to add his own opinion to the clusterfuck of ideas that had sprouted in their parlor. “Look, I get it,” he sighed. “You’re in a messed-up place and things might not seem so clear right now. I’m sorry that your aunt and uncle did that to you.”

   With a shrug of her shoulders, Grace laughed nervously. “Don’t be sorry. You aren’t the one that knocked me up,” she murmured.

   “No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad,” Harry grumbled. “You were dealt a shit hand and now you have to deal with it.”

   Grace nodded. “Do you know any women’s shelters I could go to? Or soup kitchens? Maybe I could make friends with some meth addicts. I feel like I would get along with them really well.”

   “You are not going into an addict clinic just for a bed,” Theo assured her. It was a fierce and sudden protectiveness he felt.

   Maybe Draco was right; Theo did have a thing for blondes.

   “Then where am I supposed to stay?”

   Draco knew what Harry was going to say without even looking at him. “Don’t you dare,” he warned Harry. “Theo, if you want to clear your conscience of this then let her sleep over on your couch.”

   “But you have a guest bedroom,” Theo reminded him with an easy grin. Oh, Draco was so close to explosion that he could almost taste it. “Actually, you have three.”

   “Draco, it’s late. Just for tonight,” Harry suggested. Then they could find a halfway home or something safe where her prenatal potions wouldn’t be stolen out of her backpack and sold for coke money.

   “You’re going to reward,” Draco said slowly, each word with purpose. “This little girl for manipulating her way here with a spot in our home?” Sure, it sounded harsh out loud, but it was how he felt. Admittedly how he felt was clouded by his resentment for this girl that had quite literally fainted into his life and trapped his husband into loving her fetus.

   That was jumping to conclusions, though. Jordan was a viable candidate who never bothered Draco or Harry, and she was just as pregnant as Grace.

   “She didn’t manipulate anyone,” Theo insisted.

   Draco highly doubted that. His father had taught him to only give trust where it was earned.

   That was when Draco had a sick, wonderful idea. “You know who has more guest bedrooms than us?” he asked casually. “The Manor. It’s much better suited for guests with Gerda serving and acting as a guide.”

   Harry and Theo were stunned speechless that Draco would rather throw the girl into the snake’s den than house her. Narcissa and Lucius beat out Harry and Theo’s protectiveness combined.

   “Perfect! You’ll love mother, she always fawns over Pansy when she stays over. I think she would have preferred a daughter,” Draco grinned, looking plainly evil in his sharp clothes and clearly malicious aura. It radiated off of him like people said pregnant women radiated beauty.

   Before Grace could properly accept (because honestly, she would have been fine sleeping on their front porch) Draco whisked her away to the fireplace, taking her off to meet the grandparents.


	20. The Art Of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My finals are done. The world is my oyster.

**Chapter 20: The Art of War**

   The battle lines had been drawn.

   After several flanking orders and forward assaults, the enemy had been driven into the corner of the second floor.

   While this particular enemy had been inflicted on the Malfoy family by one of their own, but that didn’t mean their strategies would give the girl any mercy. At least she’d had the sense to keep her mouth shut and her star-struck gawking to a minimum.

   Still, Grace Burbage lost the war when she forgot one of the most important concept of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: Never retreat to a territory that only has one way in or out. The enemy has then cornered you, and won.

   Grace’s meager territory was a luxurious guest bedroom with azure drapery around the wide windows. Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband had once spent a night in the room when visiting, and if Grace were to look under the bed, she would have seen the former Black woman’s dusty hairbrush. After having left it in the Manor, Bellatrix’s curls were out of control for the rest of her life that ended so wonderfully shortly in the place she went to school.

   However, Grace did not look under the bed. She didn’t even look in the adjacent bathroom to see the bottle of perfume Mrs. Goyle had given Narcissa for her twenty-ninth birthday. It smelled like an old woman’s foot dunked into a vat of citrus. Lemon, orange, lime, it didn’t matter. So much citrus.

   Listening to another principle of The Art of War, Grace did not march into land she didn’t know the terrain of. Her outpost on the bed staring at the wall would have to do.

   If she focused hard enough on the little dots in the wallpaper, she could hear voices floating up from downstairs.

   “…we do not like this in the slightest!” an older man said. Grace figured it was Lucius. “And your other candidate isn’t much better! Some drop-out who got pregnant while drunk? How do you know she won’t drink with your child in her?”

   “Because,” Harry defended. Climbing off of the bed and pressing her ear to the floor was the only way she could hear his growling. “Plenty of women who drink in their daily lives stop when they’re pregnant. And what do you care? We’re not adopting _her_.”

   “Could have fooled me with the girl you’re housing in our Manor!”

   If Harry had been less angry, he would have realized Lucius included him in the ‘our’ bit.

   “It’s not too late to go back to the idea of in-vitro—“

   A belabored whine echoed in the Manor walls that Grace could only guess was Draco. “No, no, no. Father, that’s out of the question and Harry is right. No matter how dreadful the mother, all we want is the baby one of them is carrying.”

   “Draco, not this one,” Narcissa insisted. Anyone but Burbage, even the alcoholic. “Her mother…” The matriarch’s voice trailed off as Grace tried harder and harder to hear her.

   “I know, mother. Believe me, I can’t forget that night.”

   “Then what if you look into your child’s eyes and see her mother, hm?” Lucius demanded fiercely in his ever-protective spirit. Narcissa, Draco, Harry, and their possible offspring were the only thing his shrunken heart could care for.

   “I didn’t look into her mother’s eyes,” Draco answered quietly enough for Grace to second-guess what she heard. What the hell were they talking about? Voldemort had killed her mother, not the Malfoys. Even Nott had testified to that.

   The silence that followed Draco’s statement worried Grace even more. All she could hear was her own stomach churning. “The war is over,” Harry said. At least the physical war, since the metaphorical one was apparently still going on in the Manor.

   “Really? I had no idea.”

   “ _Lucius_ ,” Narcissa scolded. Her husband hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous evening, and he was a real grump after waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

   “Harry most of all should know that memories stay.” Lucius waved away his wife’s frustration with a limp swish of his hand.

   Harry narrowed his eyes—not that Grace could see—and immediately suspected Lucius of bribing some St. Mungo’s official for his medical records in therapy. Lucius was mentioned quite a few times as one of his worst stressors.

   How could someone as irritating as Lucius create something as perfect as Draco? Ah, because children weren’t destined to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Harry considered saying that out loud in regards to Grace and Jordan before Lucius spoke again.

   “I know I cannot change your minds; the two of you are so stubborn I can hardly believe you coexist—“

   “ _Love_ ,” Draco teased, putting on his sappiest voice just to freak his father out.

   “—Yes, right, sure. But I cannot change your minds, only advise you. I advise you not to go with either of these candidates for a multitude of reasons, and you have to respect my experience factoring into my opinion when making a final decision on where the Malfoy family line is going.”

   “Malfoy-Potter,” Narcissa corrected softly.

   Unlike Draco’s theatric moans whenever someone said something that bothered him deeply, Lucius simply put on a stony face. Sure, in the years after the war he’d gotten slightly better with expressing himself, but he was a man of old money and old society.

   Men like that were supposed to be above emotions. “Are either of you even listening?”

   “Yes, we are,” Harry lied smoothly. “We take all of this into account, Lucius.”

   “Since that is so clearly true, my dearest son-in-law,” he managed through gritted teeth so he could insult Harry whilst keeping his cool. “When are you taking into account that there’s a pregnant woman upstairs who should not be here?”

   “Father,” Draco muttered at his caustic tone.

   “Draco, her muggleborn mother was murdered on our dining room table. This is not something I wanted brought up again, but now it’s here from your own decisions so it’s yours to deal with. Get her out of this house, go to work, and let me at least meet the other candidate.”

   Whatever shocked or offended looks the Malfoy-Potters downstairs had, none quite matched the way Grace’s face had twisted in horror.

   Giving up her battle plans entirely, she grabbed her backpack off of the floor and ran to the nearest fireplace.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Much like Harry, Remus didn’t have a blessed clue about the begonias. Neither did Sirius, McGonagall, or the twelve other professors Auror Weasley showed the note to. According to Sprout, the grounds didn’t even have begonias in them and they were unlikely to grow in the Forbidden Forest.

   While Harry had presumably taken the day off to yell at some Malfoys, it left Ron to stew alone on the case. It took him three full minutes to realize he was scratching his head in confusion with the tip of his quill.

   With a trickle of black running down his face, Ron decided that 9:13 AM was the perfect time for his lunch break.

   Leaving his office and the buzz of crime being solved behind, he screwed his eyes shut and apparated to his front door. That way, he could surprise Hermione and little Rosie.

   “Hermione?” he called out, lingering in the door frame.

   “Upstairs!”

   “Dada?”

   Ron grinned and shut their door behind him. “Be right there!”

   He sprinted up their spiral staircase to see Hermione playing with Rose on the floor of her pastel blue room, painted with butterflies on the wall that were charmed to move on their own and float towards whoever came in the room. They rested by Rose’s crib when she slept.

   “Hey.” Ron gave his wife a kiss on the lips and his daughter a kiss on the top of her ginger hair. “What’s going on?”

   Hermione motioned to the plastic sandwich in Rose’s grip with a piece of felt lettuce and felt cheese stuck in there. “We’re having a picnic. Care to join?” Rose’s stuffed bears, dogs, and dolphins were gathered around the quilted picnic blanket Hermione had spread out over the floor.

   “Of course. I am on my lunch break,” announced Ron as he picked Rose up to sit her down on his knee. She giggled, reaching up to grab at her father’s black uniform with all its tassels and pins of honor. “Pour me some tea?”

   “What’s the magic word?” Hermione asked.

   “Please may I have some tea?”

   “Yes, you may.” She picked up the empty tea pot and poured the imaginary liquid into Ron’s cup, careful to also top off the stuffed elephant’s cup.

   “Thank you,” Ron said cordially before lifting his pinky up and taking a sip out of the flowery cup. Rose happily copied her father in adoration. After all, he was secure enough in his manhood to show his daughter one hell of a feminine good time.

   In years to come, Ron would show up to work with painted nails. Whenever he was injured, sparkly rainbow Band-Aids would heal his wounds. If anyone sneered or rolled their eyes, he’d hex their bullocks off.

   “How’s the case going?” Hermione asked. While her daughter was lovely for watching telly with, she wasn’t the best at stimulating adult conversation.

   “Miserably,” Ron said cheerily. “We’re on a wild goose chase for some flowers. Is it bad that I’m actually wishing for a high-profile case of regular murder and deception from a crime of passion to get us off of this insanity?”

   “Yes, Ron. That’s probably bad.”

   He shrugged. “It’s just getting to Harry, y’know? That, and Draco is in a regular snit about Nott’s father being involved. Then again, when isn’t Draco in a snit?”

   “At least this is of substance,” she encouraged. Hermione’s goals for Draco involved him being not only a better husband to Harry, but a better man. “Theo’s kind; he always has been kind.” He’d been one of the few Slytherins to lend her a hand in potions back in school without making fun of her appearance or bloodline. “He hardly deserves this.”

   “The only person that deserves a father like Marcus Nott is Marcus Nott.”

   Hermione couldn’t help but second that. “Just when it feels like the war is over, it really isn’t,” she whispered. She couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or angry.

   The war still went on when strange old men gave her dirty looks on the street and mouthed ‘mud’. The bastards couldn’t have gotten away with anything more than that, or Hermione wouldn’t look like the crazy one when she called them out.

   It still went on in certain private pureblood homes and in the haunted memories of people like Harry who couldn’t seem to let the past remain in the past. In short, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was a bitch.

   At least the glamour spells covered up Hermione’s scar. Harry had never even tried to cover the one on his forehead.

   “Remus hasn’t figured out what the next hint means, so it looks as if we don’t have much of a choice.”

   Hermione shook her head before realizing all of the dour talk had begun to bother Rose. She was fussing around on Ron’s lap with a pout on her face, arms reaching out for her mama.

   “Oh, come here, baby,” Hermione murmured as she held her daughter close.

   Ron couldn’t resist. “I’m right here,” he said in the sleaziest voice he could manage. “ _Baby_.”

   “Ugh, I cannot believe I am attracted to you.”

   “Neither can I, really. I’m just lucky that you’re still willing to shag me.”

   “After a child, no less,” Hermione grumbled. The only good memory of that whole night had been being able to hold Rose after they had cleaned her up.

   “After two children?” Ron asked hopefully. Pregnant sex was definitely not on his list of kinks, especially after seven months. He loved Hermione and found her to be the most beautiful woman on earth, but something about being way too close to his unborn child freaked the Auror out.

   Hermione smiled as she rocked Rose back and forth. “Of course,” she assured him before giving Ron a peck on the lips. “It’s truly a beautiful time when our children have no idea we’re talking about sex in front of them.”

   “When they’re teenagers we can freak them out with it. Our sex is the only reason they’re here,” Ron pointed out.

   Hermione rolled her eyes. “How would you feel if Molly and Arthur did that to you?”

   “My parents never had sex, Hermione. Never. Pretty sure we’re all adopted,” Ron told her seriously. “It’s a wonder we all look the same when I doubt my parents have ever even considered having sex.”

   “You’re at war with the truth,” Hermione decided with a chuckle. She could have sworn her baby agreed with her in her little mumbles and giggles.

   Ron plugged his ears with his fingers. “Not listening!”

   “Merlin, Ron. You’re the child in the room.”

   “La la la la la!”

   Hermione wasn’t sure if it was Ron’s off-key singing or general exhaustion, but Rose got even fussier. Then, she smelled it. “Apparently,  I have to go take care of our little stinker. How much time do you have left before you go back?”

   Ron didn’t want to go back to death and decay when he had his family. “An hour,” he lied. “Which is just enough time for me to make you lunch.”

   From the changing table, Hermione shot him a smile. When he disappeared to make her meal the smile didn’t even fade. Ron was a shit liar, and it was flattering to be considered preferable to decoding a madman’s thoughts from the eighties.

   She did happen to miss him, too. As of late they’d either been too busy, too tired, or too preoccupied with Rose to get any time for intimacy in.

   As she redressed their darling daughter, Hermione wanted to reward him for that ever-so-typical patience. When she put Rose down in her crib, she promised herself that this afternoon would be one of the most romantic of Ron’s life, even if they only did have an hour until Kingsley came looking for him.

   When Kingsley showed up at the door forty-five minutes later, Hermione had even made up a story as to why Ron had to come home. A pregnancy issue, she said. Nobody ever asked for specifics about that except Healers.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “Open up,” Healer Malfoy-Potter called, banging on the guestroom door. He didn’t blame Grace for not responding. If it were Draco with child in that strange room, he would have locked the door against the world. “Have you at least taken your prenatal potions?”

   Silence.

   “Draco, maybe we should give her a minute.”

   “If she doesn’t come downstairs in less than a minute, my father will come up here.”

   Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have done this in the first place,” he huffed. “I of all people know how intimidating your parents can be, which if you don’t know, is _massively_ intimidating. Massively.”

   Harry tried knocking on the door.

   “Can I at least come in?” Harry asked softly. “I’m sorry about this, Grace. I… I feel like we’re fucking this up.” It had been the first time Harry admitted it.

   “What?” Draco asked.

   “We’re fucking this up because in what world is it okay to punish someone for their parents—well, their not-parents—kicking them out?” Exhausted from arguing with Lucius and Narcissa all morning, Harry really couldn’t take another verbal showdown.

   He put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, looking the blonde dead in the eye.

   “I know you don’t like her.”

   Draco nodded.

   As if he were about to share some huge secret, Harry leaned in until his eyelashes almost brushed against Draco’s cheek. “Guess what?” he whispered. “Draco, I don’t know if you have observed this, but you don’t like anyone.”

   Not even Draco could hold back a laugh at that. “Shut up,” he said as he tried to tense his mouth down from his smile.

   “It’s true, though. Draco, you hated the man you _married_ for seventeen years.”

   “That’s because you were an annoying twat back then,” he defended. “But you thankfully grew up. It’s not my fault you matured faster than some knocked-up schoolgirl.”

   Harry took Draco’s hand in his, taking a moment to watch their fingers fall into that familiar place. “There’s no point in making her miserable,” he reminded him.

   Oh, Draco hated when Harry was right, but sometimes it just felt divine to watch someone he disliked suffer.

   “Let’s go in there together and talk to her, okay?”

   Draco took a deep breath before resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Okay.” He sort of had lost sight of what this was supposed to be about.

   “Grace,” Harry called back to the door. “We’re coming in now, alright? Do you hear me?”

   Still, no response.

   Still, Harry didn’t blame her. She’d gotten an honest look at the dysfunctions of their family and was most likely in need of a shock blanket and a warm cup of tea.

   Hoping he could conjure one that didn’t taste terrible, Harry opened the door and found… Well, nothing. “Hello?” he asked the empty room. Maybe Grace had gone into the bathroom.

   Already a step ahead of him, Draco knocked on the bathroom door. “You better have clothes on,” he muttered when he swung the door open without an answer.

   While Draco was grateful a naked woman wasn’t in there, he was disturbed that nobody was in the bathroom at all.

   “Uh.”

   “Grace?” Harry asked again weakly.

   “Maybe she’s in the closet,” he remarked sarcastically. “I hope she said ‘hello’ to Slughorn for me.”

   Harry sniggered. “You really are never going to get over that theory, are you?”

   “Sirius thinks the same thing! Two generations of general creepiness towards male students has to point out something in Slug’s life.”

   “We’re also clearly fucking _this_ up,” Harry said slowly. “Because we apparently drove her away by not even speaking to her.”

   Immediately, Draco tensed up.

   “What is it?”

   Draco buried a hand in his own hair to tug at it. “Do you think…?”

   “Think what?” Harry questioned, entirely lost.

   “Mum!” Draco shouted suddenly. “Mum, get up here!”

   It only took a second for Narcissa to respond with “I’m coming, sweetheart!” and Draco heard her crystal clear.

   “She heard,” he said numbly with a blank face.

   “Draco, I am so sick of not knowing what’s going on!” Harry hissed, gripping his hip. “ _Tell me_.”

   “She heard us talking. Grace heard us—“

   “—and your father—“

   “—and _her mother_ —“

   Harry took off.

   He raced down the stairs and passed Narcissa in a fluster.

   “I’ve got the hospitals and shelters,” Draco called as he raced after Harry.

   “And I’ve got Hogwarts.”

   Narcissa couldn’t get even get a word out before they ran out of the front door of the Manor. “What…?” she trailed off, looking around for someone to relate her confusion and distress to. “Lucius, Lucius, come quick, something’s wrong.”


	21. Little Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Supreet, her vagina, and her beautiful romance with my dog.

**Chapter 21: Little Girl**

   “I’m not some rapist,” Draco said as he put his hand over his chest in offense.

   He’d zipped through St. Mungo’s with no sign of Grace and gotten a patronus message from Harry saying she wasn’t at Hogwarts. Draco was already desperate when he entered the women’s soup kitchen.

   “Sir, there are women here who have been abused. My job is to not let that happen again,” the matronly figure behind the desk stated simply. “I cannot tell you what women are staying here, because even if you are innocent, leaking that kind of information will assure it finds its way to those who would have these women hurt once more. Husbands, fathers, boyfriends, pimps…”

   “I’m gay,” Draco offered her. The last shelter he’d been to was wizarding, so they’d at least known that. Not being famous among muggles was truly bothersome.

   “And you’ve never heard of a gay man abusing a woman? It happens.”

   “Well, I’ve never done it!”

   The woman made a ‘tsk, tsk’ noise to Draco. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

   “I could—“

  “That was a rhetorical question,” she sighed. “Now if you’d kindly exit the lobby—“

   “What if I give you the name of the girl I’m looking for? Look, she’s seventeen, blonde, pregnant, might be using a fake name but here—“ Draco grabbed a pen so he could scribble down ‘Grace Burbage’. “If she’s here, then please just let her know that Draco stopped by.”

   It was a reasonable request, so the woman took it. “Fine,” she nodded curtly, looking down at the slip of paper. The name was new to her, and the only pregnant women she had were in their twenties.

   Draco gritted his teeth. “Thank you,” he said as courteously as he could manage before returning to the streets of London on his quest for the prodigal daughter. He hoped Harry would appreciate Draco’s bragging about being so nice to strangers when they met after this shitstorm.

   And oh, how Draco was looking forward to that.

   All he wanted to do was crawl into the covers with Harry and go to sleep with a sound mind and a full stomach. Draco, in a lonely throb, craved intimacy more than anything when he crossed the street on his way to the next shelter.

   He wanted warmth, but not like the mucky hot weather he was enduring. Draco wanted that skin-tingling closeness where he forgot whose feet were whose and they were consumed by the moment.

   All Draco was currently consumed by was a need to rescue an adolescent after his loudmouth father had revealed a rather nasty family secret. Draco was ready to chew him out for that later just as much as Harry was.

   If it were any comfort, Harry was having just as miserable a time as Draco in locating Grace. He’d enlisted the help of Ron and Hermione to scour the Ministry buildings nearby, but there was still no sign of her.

   With the Golden Trio running about London, it would only make sense to get the Lupins in on the fun.

   Draco turned a corner into a dead-end alleyway that was stacked tall with bricks. Then, no muggle would have to see him send the patronus message. The last thing Draco needed was a citation for magic use in front of the unsuspecting public.

   “Come quickly,” Draco finished before whisking the ghostly dragon away. Maybe Remus would know where kids hung out those days. It was strange that he was the one most in-touch with pop culture since he was stuck in the seventies, but he was around kids all day for work.

   Sheathing his wand in the inner pocket of the robe, Draco melted back into the flow of the people that the downtown area seemed to have after lunchtime.

   A woman with a hot pink bag strutted by with a cellphone up to her ear, blabbing about some business deal or another. Behind her, two teenagers walked alongside one another and blushed when their hands accidentally brushed together.

   Draco was sick of teenagers, but he turned down Fleet Avenue anyway. The next homeless shelter was coed and mostly drug-addicts that left them with nasty magical side effects. A man with purple ears shuffled past Draco, so he figured he was going in the right direction.

   The only thing that made him turn around to face the park on the other side of the road was a loud splashing noise.

   Draco looked up and scowled at whatever tomfoolery was going on preemptively. He was not in the mood for bullshit. “What?” he muttered after a moment of staring.

   He darted out across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a cab that was forced to screech to a halt.

   “The fuck is wrong with you!”

   The cab driver was normally a kind, calm man. He had two grandchildren from his only daughter whom he loved very dearly. He had their drawings hung up on the fridge and read bedtime stories to them. In a moment of sheer and unexpected rage, he leaned on the horn to make such an obnoxious noise that Grace whirled around on her rock perch.

   She’d climbed her way to one of the jagged stones that the mayor of London said would ‘add to the artistic appeal of the park’ and sat down to try and skip stones. Grace had failed miserably at this, which only made her angrier.

   Quickly, Grace turned back into herself and screwed her eyes shut. _Please make him go away. Please, someone just make him go away_. She chucked another rock into the pool of water to try and reinforce her sentiment through body language. The koi fish scattered, running for their lives from the killer meteors falling from the heavens.

   “I think you’re supposed to skip them,” Draco offered after he hopped the fence to get to her. He wished he could be relieved that she wasn’t dead in a sewer, but that would have been incredibly premature.

   “I think you’re supposed to fuck off.”

   Draco pulled out the beginning of the speech he had prepared while he was looking for her, seeing no other option. “I know this is strange.”

   “Strange?” she laughed slowly, shakily. “Go fuck yourself, ‘strange’. You don’t get to be fucking quirky and clever when my mum is dead. I bet you think you’re so fucking witty and eloquent. I bet your stupid husband tells you that every day and you don’t even think about my mother.”

   Draco’s pride and ego were equally wounded. The sad part was, he knew he probably deserved it. “That’s not true,” he said quietly.

   “Then what is?” Grace questioned, turning to face him. Her eyes had puffed up from crying, but at the time she just looked angry with strands of hair having escaped the tight hold of her ponytail.

   Grace’s perfect plan for the perfect family for her unfortunate fetus had fallen to shambles, and for Grace to figure out that it was for the same reason her childhood had fallen to shambles, it made her sick.

   “She was kidnapped, and the Manor was the headquarters of the Death Eaters.” There was no point in lying to her, so he let it flow out. “Peter Pettigrew tried to get information on Hogwarts security out of her.”

   Grace swallowed an angry shudder. She didn’t even have to ask if her mother had given over the information or not. Of course Charity hadn’t betrayed her tight-knit network of professors and students. They were her family as much as Grace was.

   “When she didn’t hand it over…” Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper with each word.

   “Stop being a wimp about this,” she snapped. “Just tell me how you watched my mum die.”

   “I did. I did, Grace. Voldemort killed her and I’m sorry—“

   She dug her fingernails into Draco’s shoulder. If he was going to be close, Draco would have to feel her wrath. “I don’t care what you are. You know, I built you up to be so big in my head,” she said breathily. It felt sort of marvelous, like she was an air sprite just flitting about each word with the truth she’d uncovered. “But you’re not. I think I’ve figured it out, too.”

   “Figured what out?”

   “I imagined a million conversations in my head with you before I met you, and then I tried to act like your best friend. Hell, I trusted you with my unborn baby as if you were the most qualified men in the world; you and Harry both.” The anger trickled out of her in a steady stream.

   “But you’re not. I mean, I’m probably even less qualified, but you’re hardly perfect,” she laughed.

   Draco shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to defend himself, but he knew that Grace had to say this without being interrupted.

   “The more I grow up, the more I realize nobody’s an adult. Nobody has any idea what they’re doing, even the people who look like they’ve got it together. You were a scared, stupid kid, and you let my mother die.”

   He nodded, gripping tight to his silence no matter how much he hated it.

   “And I’m a scared, stupid kid who got pregnant.”

   “You’re not stupid,” Draco finally butted in. “You were shocked today by horrible news, and I wouldn’t blame you if you despised me forever. In fact, I would encourage you to do that.”

   Grace shook her head. “Fuck you, I’m not finished talking.”

   “Sorry.”

   “Nobody has any idea what they’re doing,” she recapitulated, bringing her points together. “But I know we can’t change what’s been done. I’ve been angry my whole life, Draco Malfoy. I’ve felt it in my bones and sometimes I’d have to run for miles and miles just to get it out. My whole body would go red when simple things set me off.”

   Draco tried to reach out for her before realizing that was a terrible idea. Losing a parent wasn’t simple.

   “I remember sharpening my pencils for hours in muggle school. There was a sharpener outside of the classroom, and whenever some kid would talk about their parents or make fun of my clothes, I would go outside and pretend I had to sharpen my pencils. That’s why my hands were so cracked and clammy when I was little, you know.”

   “I’m sorry about that, too.”

   “But there’s nothing more pointless than that,” Grace argued with a fiery glow about her. “Why would I sharpen something down to a nub and then not use it? I hated writing with those tiny pencils; it was impossible.”

   Slowly, he began to understand. “You did it so you could feel as if you were doing _something_ for yourself.”

   “But I wasn’t. I was just sharpening everything down to a stump that I couldn’t use. You can’t add wood and lead back into a pencil,” she said plainly.

   “And you’re prepared to forgive me—my family, really—for watching your mother die just because we can’t change it?” Draco asked, so amazed that he forgot to be sensitive about it. Grace seemed to find that refreshing.

   “No,” she said simply. “Today is salt in an old wound, and I’m not forgiving your stuck-up, petulant father for that. All I’m doing is saying that I get it, okay?”

   “What?”

   “I know that if some professor of mine that I didn’t really speak to was being tortured in front of me and that if I spoke up I would be next, then I would have done the same thing.” Grace wished she was brave like her Gryffindor friends, but she wasn’t. Her and Draco were snakes through and through. “You have to make a promise to me, Draco Malfoy.”

   “Anything,” he swore.

   “Promise me you won’t ever tell my baby about the way her grandmother died. Don’t tell the baby anything about me, either. Don’t ever die young, and don’t ever do stupid things that put you in harm’s way. I never want my baby to be as angry as I was. Well, as I am.”

   Draco’s mouth tried to form words. “Grace, Harry and I need to talk about this, this is sudden, and you’re not in the best place emotionally—“

   “Then call him,” Grace snapped. “Merlin, you’re an arsehole. My mother died so you could live, do you not get that? You and Harry and everyone else. If she’d given away Hogwarts’ defenses, the castle would have collapsed and I would be dead, too. I would never be having this baby. Now swear to me you’ll take care of her granddaughter.”

   Only then did Draco realize she was using female pronouns.

   “Granddaughter?” Was Grace seeing another Healer?

   “Granddaughter. Now _swear to me_.” She’d checked into a clinic to figure out the gender after her flight from Malfoy Manor. It set her in the present rather than the past.

   Draco shook his head. “No, I’ve not been so great to Harry lately. I need to include him on this, okay? Let me just send the patronus message.”

   “So I built your relationship up, too?” Grace laughed. In interviews, they always seemed so happy together.

   “Yes, Grace, even we have arguments. Trying to acquire a baby has led to more than a few,” he said in a very matter-of-fact manner. “How in the world did you think Harry and I were perfect?”

   She didn’t answer him. It was healthy, she supposed, for couples to argue. There was something suspicious about people that were content in their relationships one hundred percent of the time. They were probably hiding something.

   When Harry rushed into the park to greet his husband with an arm around his waist and a kiss on the cheek, Grace knew that there was no way in hell Harry could hide something from Draco. The man was transparent and wore his heart right on his face.

   She could see every twinge of emotion when Draco told him of Grace’s deal. There was hope, surprise, excitement, and relief all at once. When Draco told him the baby was a girl, Harry even had a little glimmer of water in the corner of his eye.

   Harry had never accepted a deal so fast in his life.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The orange lily was simply refusing to stay on Colin’s daisy chain. No matter what way he twirled the stem around the other flower, it fell off.

   He sighed, looking down to his sleeping boyfriend. There would have to be some way to get the flower in on the cluster of violets and roses already positioned in Theo’s black hair. The Slytherin was a thankfully heavy sleeper, so Colin had even been able to sneak in some little buttercup flowers in his eyebrows.

   Theo looked like a woodland fairy, which amused Colin immensely enough to keep him twisting flowers in his hair.

   Colin gave up on his lily for the moment to place the daisy flower crown around Theo’s head. It made him look like the prince of the wild.

   “Mm?” Theo asked with closed eyes. Blindly, he reached out to grasp onto Colin.

   The gardens they’d gone to on their date night were abundant and beautiful, along with the food they’d brought to eat. If it wasn’t for how Theo looked snoozing in the grass, Colin and his full belly would have fallen asleep beside him.

   “Don’t move,” Colin told him gently and held him still so he could try once more to get the tangerine flower behind his left ear. “You look like a woodland nymph.”

   “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.”

   “I’m your first,” the Gryffindor informed him seriously.

   “Wish you had been.”

   Was that just the sleep talking, or…? “Really?” Colin asked.

   Oh, shit. Had Theo said that out loud? “Uh,” he tried to recover. “I mean, the experience did help in the future. We have great sex now because I had a clue as to what I was doing.”

   “Who was your first?” Colin plucked a nearby Pansy off of its stalk and curled it around a croft of hair. “Just curious.”

   Theo gave him a tiny smile. He couldn’t see himself with all those flowers in his hair, but apparently Colin had made it happen. “It was when I was on vacation to the states. I went to California alone, since my father let me pick where I wanted to go, and I knew he wanted somewhere in Europe.” The mention of his father made the memory sour.

   “His name was Noah and he was a lifeguard.”

   “So you two did it on the beach?” Colin laughed. He knew from experience that sandy sex had some tragic results.

   Theo shook his head. “He shared a house with some of his classmates. I think he went to some muggle university that had the word ‘California’ in its name. University of California? College of South California? Yeah, I have no idea.”

   “Muggles,” Colin teased. “So confusing.” Though it definitely was a slap to Marcus’ face that Theo had been deflowered by a regular Joe. Or Noah, Colin supposed.

   “Of course. I was fourteen and he was nineteen, and it was really sloppy. What about you?” It wasn’t a hobby of Theo and Colin’s to rehash their past experiences with people who were not the man lying next to them, but it was still the truth. The reason Colin loved photography so much was because it exposed the truth no matter what it looked like. The reason Colin loved Theo was because he was always honest.

   “I was nineteen,” Colin laughed. “So you beat me there.”

   “As expected.”

   Colin gave him a shove before telling his own story. “I met this bloke at a bar and we went out on a couple of dates. His name was Harvey, a real unassuming guy to the untrained eye.”

   “But to yours?” Theo asked, curious.

   “I dunno. I feel like I just have an eye for who’s a freak in bed. The second I met you should be proof enough of that.” Well, they had met in school, but neither man counted that as their first meeting. They were both so underdeveloped then, and never could imagine they would be falling for one another.

   A flower-laced eyebrow on Theo’s forehead rose. “You were thinking about shagging me in a wedding venue? That’s scandalous, you horny fuck.”

   “As if you weren’t staring at my arse the whole time,” Colin snorted.

   “It’s not my fault that you really filled out your jeans since I last saw you! I swear, it was like you went in a cocoon and came out a regular Adonis.”

   He rolled his eyes and shoved Theo again. “I am no Adonis, you prick.”

   “I can’t believe you’re offended by compliments. Anyway, tell me why it ended with Harvey,” he requested.

   Of course Theo wanted to know how it ended, Colin thought. It always seemed to satisfy his boyfriend that Colin had never met anyone who fit just right with him like Theo did. “He wound up getting a job in Cardiff and we lost touch. Still was some great sex, though. Do you really wish I was your first?”

   “I think I’m just wishing that we stopped being idiots earlier in life so I wouldn’t have to deal with all of those failed romances and drunken one-night stands,” he shrugged. “You’re the only person I see myself with long-term out of all of them.”

   Tenderly, Colin cupped Theo’s cheek. “Like, forever?” he asked breathlessly. “Is a Slytherin voluntarily talking about commitment? Because honestly, who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

   “I’m right here.” Theo rolled his eyes.

   Rather than being snarky right back, Colin used his wand to fetch a high-growing hibiscus. This one found a place in Theo’s shirt lapel right next to his beating heart. “I would like that,” he said after a moment.

   “Forever?”

   “At the very least for the long-term.” Colin grabbed some more orange lilies and twisted them in Theo’s hair. “I see a future with you. You’re honest, funny, kind, smart, good in bed… I mean, what else are you supposed to look for in a life partner?”

   Theo pulled him in for a long, sweet kiss. Almost every day he doubted his own intelligence at one point or another, and he was always trying so hard to be courteous and polite to those who had earned it. Colin certainly had.

   “Also a great snogger.”

   “Yeah, well I happen to enjoy snogging you,” Theo murmured and forced himself to make eye contact with the human incarnation of a bouncy ball that was lying on top of him. The ring in his pocket felt heavy with purpose, and Theo wondered if now was the time to pull it out and put his life on the line.

   It was his life that he was gambling with, after all. Marriage would mean a future, and a future might lead them down the path that Draco and Harry were fumbling about with children. Except Theo wouldn’t go through all that doubty bullshit Draco had with whether or not he’d be a good father.

   Theo would be a good father because he was not his own father. It was simple.

   “I enjoy snogging you too,” Colin affirmed. He felt filled to the brim with some kind of light, and it showed. Colin was happier than he could properly say, so that light said it for him.

   “Even when I’ve got these poofy flowers in my hair?” Theo questioned playfully, feeling himself recede into his shell. The moment had passed, and he still hadn’t asked Colin to marry him. Maybe there’d never be the right moment, he feared.

   Colin kissed his nose. “Roses and all.”

   “Even the violets?”

   “Even in the lilies.”

   “Even snogging me in the daisies?”

   Colin was quickly running out of flower names. What was the technical term for ‘those clustered pink ones’? “Even the…” he trailed off, worrying at his lower lip.

   “The only thing I didn’t sell from Nott Manor were the gardens,” Theo recalled suddenly. “My mum used to grow potion ingredients there along with flowers. She had everything. Daffodils, carnations, snapdragons, begonias—“

   “What?” Colin asked quickly, bolting upwards so the one rose he’d placed in his own hair fell to the grass.

   Was Colin Creevey ever shit at hiding his feelings, or what? “Yes?” Theo asked slowly, sitting up so he could rest his arms around the other man.

   “Your mother,” he said, flustered. “She planted those?”

   “Yeah, there was a whole patch right by the southern wall. They used to make Blaise sneeze like hell whenever he visited. Why are you asking?”

   The clue had to be talking about those begonias, they just had to be.

   Colin had gotten all the details of Marcus’ case so he could properly relay everything to the man he loved, but he hadn’t gotten around to telling him about the new note.

   “Colin?”

    He shook his mop of blonde hair. “It’s, uh. It’s funny, because my mum used to plant those too,” he lied. By the time Colin was six, his mother hadn’t even been well enough to get out of bed.

   Theo accepted the lie, mostly because he wanted to. Whatever explanation was really behind Colin’s behavior Theo just knew he wouldn’t like the sound of.

   The lie grew with every kiss Colin Creevey gave him to reassure Theodore Nott that everything was going to be ‘okay, sweetheart’.

   Colin gripped to his boyfriend and the lie as tightly as he could. He would point Harry and Ron in the right direction for the case afterwards. In that moment, he was content with showering Theo in tulip petals and laughing when he swatted them away.


	22. In Strangers' Beds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love Theodore Nott. I feel like even though JK mentioned him a few times as a background character, I connect with him on a spiritual level. I could rant for hours about how I love him, but I think it’s time to check in with some other characters. Onwards! Also, DOMA is dead. Dead, dead, dead. I am so happy. Prop 8, you’re next.  
> This chapter is for Sally. Yes, you, Sally. Are you really still reading this? Bless you.

**Chapter 22: In Strangers’ Bed**

   “Alright,” Blaise said cheerfully, giving the girl laying between him and Ginny a pat on the back. It felt a little like when Draco used to pat his back after a winning Quidditch game. “That was fun. You should get home while there are still cabs.”

   The woman arched a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow and propped herself up on her elbows. “What?” she asked.

   “Or can you just use the floo?” Ginny gathered the girl’s frilly pink undergarments from the foot of the bed and handed them over. It was regretful that such a beautiful woman had to dress herself and cover up the breasts that Ginny and Blaise had just been savoring together, but it was getting late.

   Blaise and Ginny had laid down some ground rules, after all.

   Nothing romantic with anyone else (including no sleepovers), no kissing anyone else on the mouth, and no seeing someone else more than once. It was just sex with other people, not full-blown relationships.

   They’d add rules as they journeyed on their adventure through the world of sexual relations while being in Capital-L Love with one another.

   “Are you… Kicking me out?” the woman asked, flustered. “Whose flat is this?”

   Blaise motioned to Ginny. “The title’s technically in her name, but we live here together.” Still naked himself, Blaise climbed out of their royal blue sheets so he could grab a midnight snack.

   “Oh, babe,” Ginny requested, hand reaching out to her boyfriend. “Can you grab a granola bar for me? One of the ones with the yogurt on the bottom?”

   “Sure. Does, er—“ Had Blaise seriously forgotten the woman’s name? It was something with a ‘B’. Brandy? Britney? “Does our guest need any food for the road?”

   Offended, Bianca roughly shoved her underwear back on. “No, I don’t want any food,” she snarled.

   “I have to eat before I go to bed,” Ginny shared casually with a shrug. Casual conversation, in her opinion, should at least be an option between three people that just shagged. “Just can’t sleep well without it.”

   Bianca grabbed the top she’d worn to the bar off of the floor along with her leggings. What was wrong with these people? “I’m going,” she announced. “And no, I don’t want to use your floo.”

   “Goodnight, then,” Blaise said when he returned to the bedroom with a bag of chips for himself and a health bar for Ginny.

   Confused, Bianca muttered a “Goodnight” and left their apartment so she could apparate home. Bianca had promised the flat she shared with his sister would be empty that night so her sister could get around to losing her virginity to her goody-two-shoes boyfriend.

   It looked as if her sister would have to put that off for another night.

   Blaise plopped down on the space Bianca had left. “So, how was it for you?” he asked as he handed her the midnight snack.

   “I haven’t been with a woman in ages,” Ginny murmured nostalgically as she unwrapped the bar and took a bite. She didn’t even bother swallowing the food in her mouth to say the next bit. “Completely fantashtic. She wash a real looker.”

   “Not as hot as you, though.”

   She laughed and swatted his thigh. “Stop it.”

   “Stop what? It’s true.” Blaise reached out to curl a strand of her hair around his fingertip. It was strange, having just slept with someone else but being more attracted to Ginny than ever before. “You’ve got a body that lots of women would kill for and kill to be with.”

   “Nothing says sweet-talk quite like murder,” Ginny grinned.

   “It’s true,” he repeated, leaving it at that.

   Ginny lay on her side so they could be face-to-face. “You’re very superficial,” she said fondly. “I guess it’s easy for you to be because you’re so pretty.”

   “ _Handsome_ , Gin. I’m not pretty, I’m handsome.”

   “Pretty.” Ginny gave his cheek a little pat and squeezed it. She’d never been with a guy who gave her so many compliments on her appearance rather than her personality traits, but then again, she had dated her fair share of gay men. That thought brought up an idea Ginny had been cooking up.

   “How about next time we invite a bloke in?” she asked.

   The whites of Blaise’s eyes swelled. “What?” he responded in a squeak that made him sound prepubescent.

   “Why not? If I’m already shagging other blokes, why not have you here to make it even better?”

   “I’m not physically attracted to men,” Blaise pointed out. The reason they’d been bringing women in was because Ginny was attracted to them as well. “I mean, when two girls get it on, it’s hot—“

   “Same applies for people who are attracted to guys, you know. Some straight and bi women get off on the idea of two blokes shagging,” Ginny interrupted eagerly. All that lesbian porn Blaise watched with women who had nails far too long to actually render them anything other than straight outside of their little video must have been going to Blaise’s head.

   Blaise still looked flabbergasted. “Is that—I mean, is that why you were with Potter and Thomas?”

   “What? No!”

   “So you’re saying you’d want to see me and some other man…? Salazar, Gin. I never realized how kinky you were.”

   She rolled her eyes. “That’s hardly kinky. You don’t even know the half of it,” she said airily. It was just the right amount of mystery that she had been going for. “Have you ever even thought about other blokes?”

   “I honestly can say I haven’t. Aside from some ill-advised games of Spin The Bottle back in school, I have never felt myself leaning in Draco’s direction.”

   “What?” That had piqued Ginny’s interest. “You’ve kissed boys?” Somehow, that made him even more desirable. Ginny tried not to think about how streak of dating men who’d dated men and let this be a pleasant surprise.

   Blaise scrunched up his nose. “I don’t like to share it,” he admitted. “Enough people in school thought I was gay for hanging around Draco and Theo so much.”

   “People also thought Theo and Draco were together. The moral of that is that people are wildly stupid.”

   “Them both,” Blaise shared, recalling the nights when Pansy hollered and whooped with excitement no matter which of her friends were selected to snog one another. “Crabbe, Goyle, and one time when I was hanging out with Draco in a gay bar a drunken go-go boy planted one on me.” Draco had laughed so hard that his butterbeer almost came out of that huge, angular nose of his.

   “I wished Gryffindor House had played more sexy games. It would have resolved the tension between Ron and Hermione by fifth year,” she mused before arching herself into Blaise’s bare chest. He’d finished his chips, leaving his hands free to hold her.

   “Hey, what happened in that castle stays in that castle,” Blaise laughed.

   “So you’ll think about it?”

   “Think about what?”

   “A threesome with another man,” she reminded him gently. For a horrifying moment, she sounded like her mother trying to coax her father into eating whole-grain breakfast cereal.

   Blaise rolled his head to the side.

   “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

   “Ugh, stop,” he groaned. “I’ll do it, but you completely owe me.”

   Ginny grinned from ear to ear and wrapped her arm around her man. “I think I’ll find a way to make it worth your while.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Exhausted, Olivia collapsed onto the trimmed grass. It didn’t feel like the wildgrass at Hogwarts that tickled her made her think there were invisible bugs crawling on her skin. This was just prickly.

   That didn’t seem to matter to Alex, though. He was the first one to lie down and watch the clouds roll by after their game of tag had tired him out. It had really been more like Olivia tagging him and Alex giving up, but that was beside the point.

   Alex had gotten a new haircut thanks to his foster parents, and it only made Olivia want to chase after him more.

   “I think that one looks like a parrot,” he said, nudging her arm and pointing up at a milky cloud.

   “Why a parrot?” she laughed. “Sure, it looks like a bird, but what specifically makes it a parrot?”

   Alex shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

   Merlin, Olivia loved that. ‘Just a feeling’. How cool was that? “Then what breed is the one that looks like a cat?”

   “It’s a hairless cat. See how regally it’s sitting? It’s also on the thin side. What do you think about that one that looks a little like a dinosaur?”

   “That’s not a dinosaur.” The cloud puffs were hardly ferocious enough. “It looks like a dog. Like Sirius’ animagus form, all shaggy and messy.”

   Alex smiled. Even though he was a Gryffindor, he didn’t want to be too bold in asking how she was getting along with Sirius and Remus. “Yeah, Professor Lupin has got a pretty cool husband. I can’t wait until I can turn into an animal. I hope my animagus form is something awesome like a horse. So, um, you’re doing well?”

   Olivia let out a little laugh. “Yeah, ‘course I’m doing well. Are you?”

   “Yeah,” he answered honestly. “Joanne and Andrew are really good cooks, and they got me a new broom. Are you going out for Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team next year?”

   “Nope. I think I want to spend more time working on classes. Do you know how hard it is to get a job without any skills? It’s like, ridiculous,” she told him seriously since it made her feel grown-up and mature. Her week-long search had been depressing as a twelve year-old who had no bills to pay or children to support.

   “I wouldn’t worry about jobs. You’re smart, Liv. Smart people always get jobs.” The only person whose intelligence Alex was worried about was his own.

   “Just because I’m smart doesn’t mean I’ll get a job. I have to be smart at specific things.”

   Alex rolled onto his side, his glasses dropping down his nose. “You’re smart at reading,” he listed on his fingers. “You’re smart at writing, you’re smart at spells, and you’re smart at talking to adults.”

   “I worry,” she shrugged.

   “You don’t have to worry with Remus and Sirius as your parents. They’re filthy rich.”

   Olivia gave him a look. “I don’t want to live off of them forever, though. I want to have my own career,” she decided. It had been a thought of hers for a long while, but only then could she articulate it. “So it doesn’t matter how rich they are.”

   Should Olivia have said ‘we’ instead of ‘they’? Also, was it supposed to feel that odd that Remus and Sirius were considered her parents now?

   A silence passed between the two pre-teens as they looked up into the blistering June sky.

   “It’s weird, innit?” Alex said carefully. He hoped he wasn’t the only one who felt it with his foster parents. While there was no real frame of reference for him since he had no memories of his parents, he was sure there was something strange about two people deciding to become your parents.

   It was sudden.

   “It’s definitely weird,” she nodded. “But it’s nice.”

   “Agreed.”

   “Grimmauld Place is so strange.”

   “Is it really haunted?” Alex was enthralled by the idea of spiritual happenings ever since Nearly-Headless Nick had scared Professor Slughorn for him. “Do you hear Walburga Black cursing her sons? Or do the ghosts of the ancestors wail at night?”

   “Nope. I mean it’s strange in that there is no trace of the Black family. No books about them, no portraits… The place is completely and one-hundred percent Sirius and Remus. Nothing like the stories about the war said,” she told him quietly. “I guess they really made it their home.”

   “Yeah.”

   “And Sirius is nothing like his parents, which you probably already know,” she assured him. Olivia hoped that Sirius knew that. It had to be an anxiety the man had at some point, and now all she wanted was to tell him that it wasn’t true.

   That reminded Olivia that she had no idea what Remus’ parents were like. Maybe she’d ask him sometime soon.

   Before that, she would try and chat through things in their adventures in orphaning. “I think what’s so strange about Grimmauld Place is that even though it’s huge, it feels small. It feels cozy even though it’s four levels.”

   “So it’s like a home?” Alex wanted to know.

   Olivia twisted her face up. “Uh, yeah, I guess.” She still didn’t know.

   “Liv!” Sirius called from the door of the restaurant. “Want to get going, sweetheart?”

   Next to him, Joanne appeared. “And Alex, what have I told you about going into the fresh-cut grass with a white shirt on?” she asked cautiously. Having a child had begun to wear on her sanity, which probably meant she and her husband were doing it right.

   “Yeah,” Olivia shouted back before turning to Alex conspiratorially. “So you’ll convince them to let you come to the party, right?” She really wanted to see him again.

   Obliviously, Alex nodded. “Totally. Looking forward to it.”

   If this was what having a home and being a regular kid really felt like, Olivia couldn’t believe she had lived without it. It was practically integral, and no downsides had been observed. Well, not yet, anyway.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   A quiet groan escaped Harry’s lips. It floated across the room, stopping short from echoing across the house because of the silencing spell Draco had placed around their room.

   Grace wouldn’t be hearing their shagging; not over Draco’s dead body. That, and the baby would probably grow up to know the moans from their daddies’ room was not the noises of delight from eating a moist chocolate cake.

   “Draco,” Harry murmured as he carded his hands through his damp hair as the other man kissed his neck.

   They’d done something together that they hadn’t done in a long time. They went on a jog. Half of the reason was because Grace needed to settle into the guest room and they wanted to leave her be after the emotionally draining afternoon, and the other half was that Draco felt like he was getting something done when he ran.

   The run had been far from silent, too.

   Harry was finally happy with Draco including him on decisions, which meant he was up for having a real conversation about what was going on.

   It could best be summed up as: Draco felt guilty and uncomfortable, but he wished he didn’t.

   Being the wonderful husband he was, Harry suggested a shower to clear their minds. Since Draco was drenched in sweat from running, he had agreed.

   “Draco,” Harry said again, this time arching up into his touch. “Mm, as much as I would enjoy a round two…”

   “I was honestly shooting for a round three. You are so gorgeous,” Draco told him before closing his fist around Harry’s cock. He gently pumped up and down, wanting to feel the other man harden in his hand.

   Harry was giving Draco just what he wanted, too. Betrayed by his own penis. “Draco,” he insisted. “We never got a chance to finish talking about the deal with Grace.”

   With a sigh, Draco looked up to Harry’s eyes. They were wider without his glasses, more innocent-looking. “Never mention her name in bed again. Ever,” Draco ordered him before his other hand moved to stroke Harry’s taint.

   “The girl is own our house, Draco. All the handjobs in the world can’t change that. She’s going to be having our kid, our _daughter_.”

   “And what do you want me to talk with you about?” he huffed and finally withdrew his hands. “I already told you that I feel like shit about her mum. I also already told you that I’ll get over it. I have to.”

   “Yes, that’s definitely a healthy attitude to have about this.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. That was definitely the therapy talking. “I don’t care if it’s healthy or not.” He threw his hands up and pulled away from his husband. “I’ve gotten over a hundred things before this, so it’s only logical to assume I will get over the idea of not standing up for Professor Burbage. I mean, Grace is giving us her baby, so she’s clearly moved on in some way.”

   Harry curled his fingers back into Draco’s hair. “Maybe you don’t need to ‘get over it’. Maybe you have to let yourself have an emotion for a few days.”

   “Wrong!” Draco yelled. The louder he was, the more correct he was.

   “You’re insane.”

   “Don’t care. Now, you know what you can do to help me out?” That seemed what Harry was so eager to do.

   He was exasperated. “Yes, I do! Tell me.”

   Draco grabbed Harry’s jaw and planted a kiss on his lips. Harry probably should have expected it, but he was too often too naïve. But if that really was what Draco needed from him…

   Harry let out little sigh and pulled away from Draco. “You’re lucky you’re a sex god,” he mumbled.

   “I know,” Draco said with a devilish grin before kissing his way down Harry’s body. He still smelled of Draco’s vanilla body wash, warm and inviting. “And I’m lucky to have you, I suppose.”

   “You suppose?” Harry laughed as he settled back into the mattress, tilting his head to the side so he could get a better view of Draco dragging his tongue down his chest.

   Draco bit down on Harry’s nipple, dragging a groan out of him when he pulled up with his teeth. “I admittedly used the sex god title to trick you into marriage.”

   “ _You_ tricked _me_ into marriage?” Harry chuckled before another tweak of his sensitive skin sent a shudder through him. “Mm, I thought I was the one who had to wear you down with years of shagging and home-cooked meals before you bought a ring.”

   “Was that how it was? I honestly can’t remember,” Draco lied.

   “I don’t even remember who you are.”

   “What are you doing in my house?”

   Draco was smiling, which was a massive improvement. “I usually don’t question gorgeous men in my bed,” Harry decided, going along with their joke. “What’s your name, stud?”

   The perfect answer came to mind. “My name is Harry Malfoy-Potter,” he told Harry. “I’ve got big green eyes and an even bigger cock.”

   “Oh? Tell me more.” Harry gently ran his nails up Draco’s back to get a shiver out of him.

   “I’m a Gryffindor,” Draco said between kisses along Harry’s stomach. He liked how soft the skin was and how Harry wasn’t some burly gym-rat. He also liked how Harry had allowed him to lose himself in their world rather than deal with the real one. “I like treacle tarts, saving the world, and sucking men off.”

   Harry snorted. “Then get to it.” After all, if Draco was pretending to be Harry, then it would only make sense for Harry to pretend to be Draco. Arrogant, sly, and undeniably charismatic.

   “Prat.” Draco’s hands moved back down to Harry’s groin to tug at his hardening prick. Without any real sting to his insults, Draco shifted down to kiss the tuft of hair above Harry’s crotch until he reached the base of his cock.

   A wave of desire hit Harry when Draco took the tip into his mouth. Draco’s head bobbed, taking more and more in each time as Harry’s hands found their way back into his blonde hair.  “Draco,” he moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

   Draco hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard. His nails dug into Harry’s hips, sure to leave bruises.

   “ _Draco_.”

   Harry was far too close to orgasm for Draco’s comfort. He wanted to draw this out, so he let his hard cock fall from his mouth. Harry whimpered as the sensation that had made his toes curl under left him.

   “Don’t fret, love,” Draco cooed, rubbing Harry’s cockhead between his thumb and forefinger to keep him achingly hard. “You know I always make you come in the end.”

   An impatient whine escaped Harry as he writhed in the sheets.

   Draco laughed and wordlessly summoned the bottle of lubricant from their bookshelf, behind a copy of some muggle book Remus and Sirius had given them for one Christmas or another.

   Finally, Draco could play Harry like an instrument to the best of his abilities. That’s what Draco really loved. Whether he was himself in the fantasy or a strict and forceful Master, the goal was always Harry’s pleasure.

   A lot of people seemed to get that wrong about sexual dominants. Draco, madly enough, was not a selfish man in bed.

   He parted Harry’s legs and flattened his tongue against Harry’s arsehole just so he could hear Harry call out his name again.

   The first two fingers went in easy as always with Draco keeping them shallow enough to just barely brush against Harry’s prostate. In frustration, Harry tried to push downward.

   His arse got a pinch from Draco’s free hand. “Stay still,” he commanded. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

   Draco had never disappointed before, so Harry did what he was told in spite of his throbbing need.

   The Slytherin pushed a third finger in, giving in to thrust them into Harry a few times before spreading them wide open. The burn shocked Harry at first, but he hardly disliked it. In fact, when Draco used that space to add in his fourth finger, Harry actually arched into it.

   Harry was like putty in Draco’s hands. Or around Draco’s hands, if he was being technical.

   Slowly, he moved his lubricated fingers in and out, his own arousal stirring when he saw the way Harry’s body relaxed around him and accepted the intrusion intuitively. That body belonged to Draco, and he knew it then more than ever.

   “Fuck, do you realize how gorgeous you are when you’re eager to fuck me? That greedy hole takes everything I give it.” Draco wanted to claim what was his.

   He spread his fingers out again, receiving a startled squeak from Harry who thought a fifth one was going in. Draco quieted those fears with a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to shag you,” Draco informed him with his signature smirk.

   “Yeah,” Harry agreed happily before conforming to Draco’s shape entirely. He kept his hands planted on Draco’s arse as he lined up his cock, wanting to be able to push Draco inside of him himself.

   Once Draco had gotten past the first ring of muscle, Harry did just that.

   He impaled himself onto Draco, hissing with delight when he was finally all the way inside of him. Harry’s knees felt weak even though he was lying down.

   Then it was Draco’s turn to fall apart from the heat of it all. He moved in and out of Harry, guided by Harry’s own hands into the friction. “ _Harry_ ,” he managed.

   “Fuck,” Harry grunted with each thrust, the slap of their skin echoing in the silenced room. “I think I’m gonna—“

   “But I haven’t even touched your cock,” Draco grinned, swapping kisses with the other man between words. In order to amend that previous statement, he reached down in between them to find Harry leaking precome.

   Harry shamelessly rutted into his hand, his own hands still groping Draco’s arse. Merlin, was he sculpted. “Now you have,” Harry grinned right back. He stole another kiss so he could moan into Draco’s mouth, the heat in his stomach rising with each thrust inside him and stroke of Draco’s hand.

   Harry let himself come undone in Draco’s arms, toes curling under once more.

   Draco stared down in awe at the strings of white covering Harry’s stomach around his softening prick, still shoving into that open hole.

   He was met with no resistance, only a smile on Harry’s face and his eyelashes shut in ecstasy.

   With purpose, Draco sheathed his length inside Harry one last time before coming inside of him. “ _Harry_ ,” he growled.

   That only seemed to please his husband more. Harry didn’t even clench up like he sometimes did when Draco filled him up; he just let Draco have his way with him.

   Draco’s way also happened to be Harry’s way, but that was beside the point.

   “I love you,” Harry said dreamily, reaching his hand up to cup Draco’s cheek. “Kiss me.”

   Of course, Draco complied. He slid their lips together before running his tongue along Harry’s teeth. Harry’s mouth didn’t offer any resistance either.

   “I love you too.” Draco Malfoy-Potter wanted to be with that man forever.

   Downstairs was a young woman who was also invested in their future as a couple.

   Thankfully Harry’s silencing charm had prevented Grace from being emotionally scarred further (or maybe just turned on, who knew with her?), but that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking of them.

   She was in their kitchen, for fuck’s sake. Grace Burbage was in the Malfoy-Potter kitchen snacking on pita chips because she felt fat. That was the curse of baby weight at five months, after all.

   In four months, she knew she’d be in St. Mungo’s, giving that curse away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really feel like writing Teen Wolf fic but I hate American slang for male sex organs. My life is so rough.


	23. Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf has recently absorbed my brain. All thoughts are Sterek. Life is Sterek. I am so writing Sterek fic later. Still, I won’t ignore my favorite pairing: Drarry. I love these idiots.

**Chapter 23: Princess**

   “I don’t get it,” Draco announced as he straightened up the coat rack. It had been a long day at work, but a rewarding one. “Haven’t you got enough dramatics in your life?”

   From the couch, Grace watched her third soap opera marathon that day. “Television is a valid art form,” she told him as the secret twin on the television attempted a seduction of her boss.

   It had taken a week, but Harry and Draco had finally integrated Grace into their home. Everyone involved knew it was temporary, but it was a place for her to lay her head and rest up before the baby came.

   Draco was mostly just surprised that things were going so smoothly. He’d been able to avoid press attention and persistent questions, and Grace hadn’t done anything deplorable yet. Much better than expected.

   “It’s like reading a dramatic book,” Grace went on. “Just because it’s on a screen doesn’t make it any less real.”

   “Yeah, but the shitty acting makes it much less believable.”

   “Touché.”

   Draco smirked to himself. “Get your shoes on,” he told her, having not taken his own off yet.

   She raised an eyebrow, but figured she was in no position to deny him that. Grace—one hand on her stomach—rose from the chamomile sofa. It was probably predictable, but she loved the décor of Draco and Harry’s home sweet home. “Where are we going?” Grace asked.

   “Shopping,” Draco said cheerfully. Weren’t teenagers were supposed to love that? “You need new maternity clothes before you bust the seams on your current ones.”

   Unlike Olivia, Grace had absolutely no problem taking other people’s hard-earned sickles and knuts. “Fabulous.” Without any further ado, she slipped on some comfy flip-flops and joined Draco by the door.

   Wow. Draco and Grace had been talking for more than sixty seconds and nothing had gone terribly awry. Draco was feeling better about himself by the minute.

   “So,” he said, leading her out of the house and locking the door behind himself. Lucius’ spells had kept the press off of their front lawn much more effectively than Draco cared to admit, but it was refreshing to step outside without hundreds of cameras flashing and rude questions being thrown at him. “Enjoying the neighborhood?”

   “You know damn well that I haven’t been outside of the house in days,” Grace snarked without much harm intended. “It’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk out here and I’m carrying some heavy cargo.”

   It was much more romantic to refer to the baby as ‘precious cargo’, but Draco was always a stickler for semantics. “Yes, yes.” Anyone who looked at Grace now could surely tell she was with child. Her frame was too thin to hide the sudden bump in her belly.

   Thankfully for Grace’s swollen ankles, it wasn’t long before they arrived at a petite shopping center. The pizza place there caught her attention before the maternity clothes store, but that was probably due to the insatiable craving for anchovy cheesesteak she had developed.

   Draco noticed the poor girl practically salivating at the thought. “We’ll eat afterwards.”

   The bell on the glass door sounded when they walked into the boutique full of mannequins with what looked like basketballs shoved up their skirts. How attractive.

   “Just grab what you like,” Draco shrugged. “They’re all pretty stretchy, so you don’t even need to try them on.” Nobody had ever taught him how to budget or shop without emptying his week’s salary, which was a rare opportunity for Grace to see.

   She’d never grown up around wealth. Sure, she wasn’t panhandling on the street, but this was serious money. The kind that could control a government if Draco and Harry wanted to.

   _Maybe they do,_ Grace thought pleasantly to herself as she grabbed rack after rack of skirts, shirts, dresses, robes, pants… _With Harry as Head Auror, it’s entirely possible that they’ve corrupted the sacred Ministry. Her kid would never be in trouble with the law._

   Ironically enough, someone who had run into some hot water with both Aurors and his parents walked by the maternity shop.

   Zeke’s hands were firmly in his pockets when he saw the maternity store and looked away like the sight burned him. He was allergic to all things baby.

   When his mum tried to show him a picture of himself as a baby, Zeke had fled to his room. When the telly advertised new inventions in baby bowls that wouldn’t tip over, Zeke switched the channel to cartoons just to drown out the idea of children.

   Unfortunately, the children’s cartoons were not an effective remedy.

   So the fucking clothing store was the straw that broke the camel’s fatherly back. He crossed the street to the opposite side and tried to shake off his crippling sense of failure and cowardice. That wasn’t an effective remedy either.

   He’d been trying to get his life in the right course. Zeke had started paying attention in class, working a summer job, helping out around the house… He’d even apologized to some Aurors that he gave a tough time to. One of those Aurors was Harry Potter, but that was beside the point to Zeke.

   Apparently not even a higher GPA could make his girlfriend un-pregnant.

   He stormed down the street and out of sight before Grace could turn around to show Draco her armfuls of clothing. The window right behind Draco with little yellow birds painted on it would have given Grace the perfect view of her ex had he not run off.

   “It’ll never fit when I lose the weight,” she lamented. “But I want it all.”

   Draco led her to the counter to give the cashier his joint account number he shared with Harry. Lucius had nearly perished from shock when he heard about that one.

   “You can have it all,” Draco said wistfully. The amount of galleons that Grace would do unspeakable things for was a trifle for Draco. He just didn’t care about it, which was the epitome of his privilege.

   All Grace could imagine when he said that was Draco and a small, blonde girl in a toy shop. Her child would be blonde she decided as if she had any control of it, and would look nothing like Zeke, because it would be Grace’s girl. In her mind she looked like Grace had as a child.

   As Draco paid, Grace let the scene fill her mind until it seeped out of her ears.

   Draco and Harry would be holding one of her tiny hands each when she would stumble on a play castle that made her eyes go wide. Harry and Draco wouldn’t even have to talk before grabbing it off of the shelf. Draco would insist she buy the expansion toys, with swords and bows and arrows and shields so she could defend her palace.

   Grace’s girl would be a princess. Any princess she liked. A princess that read books all day, one that fought off evil, one that combed her hair and obsessed over clothes, any kind she wanted.

   “Thanks,” Grace remembered, since saying that to a man who had bought you an entire new wardrobe was probably polite.

   Draco shrugged and handed her the bags to carry. Draco Malfoy-Potter never carried bags when someone else could, even when they were his own. Harry usually wound up being the brawn of their shopping trips while Draco stayed the brain.

   “I could kill for some chicken wraps right now,” Draco told Grace as they entered the little sandwich shop. “Anything in particular that you want? Any cravings?”

   “Hm.” Grace focused on what she would have if she could have anything. “I want a bread bowl. I want a bread bowl filled with potatoes and stock and cilantro and pickles.”

   Smiling to himself, Draco put in the order.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Harry and Ron crept along the southern wall of Nott Manor as if the place was actually occupied.

   They’d been to too many ‘abandoned’ houses to trust one to be entirely empty. For all they knew Marcus could have been a fan of keeping swarms of locusts or hordes of mutated rats. Harry wondered if Theo would have given them any information on that, but knew he couldn’t ask.

   Not only would Draco banish him to the couch for at least a week, but Harry would feel like a terrible person. Who was he to hurt Theo? Theo was a stand-up citizen with a loving boyfriend. He hadn’t even been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in public.

   Sure, Theo had a bit of an affinity for joints and bongs, but that wasn’t awful in Harry’s eyes. It was subsequently better than any kind of hard drug.

   Much to Ron’s chagrin, they were going in blind.

   “C’mon,” he muttered to Harry once he had cleared the area around the gardens. All they had to do was kick in a rusty door—yes, kick in, because they were manly men—and they were inside.

   The gate fell, some of the metal bars breaking with the crash back to the ground. The gardens had been thrown into a state of disrepair after eight years of neglect. That was 2,922 days of rotting, infestation, rusting, and decay.

   “Looks like the plants have taken over.” Ron moved a thorny vine out of their way before heading in. The garden reminded Harry of the third challenge in the tri-wizard tournament, only less-trimmed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if something tried to eat us.”

   Harry snorted and kicked past a dense brush of nettles. “When isn’t something trying to eat us?”

   “Fair point.”

   For the rest of the problematic plant-matter, Ron and Harry whisked it away with spells. They sliced their way through, braving the vast and tricky jungle of an ancient purist family with an unfortunate history of incest.

   It was a time like this when Harry really wished Draco were next to him. He wished that a lot for varied debaucherous reasons, but now he wished it for more practical ones. “I looked up a few pictures of begonias, but that’s it,” Harry said. Draco would know the flowers immediately. “I’m a pretty shit poof.”

   “You are. You haven’t even given me one sassy hair flip this entire time. I’m beginning to think those stereotypes were all just cruel lies, Harry. Look at how disillusioned you’ve made me.”

   “My sincerest apologies,” Harry said in the most feminine voice he could. It was nice that Ron got how much Harry hated how people treated him differently because of his sexuality. Like he was suddenly expected to be a dress-up doll for girls and a non-threatening sidekick for guys. “So, how’s Rose and Hermione?”

   Ron followed the path through the garden, thankful it wasn’t as confusing as he thought it would be. “They’re perfect as usual. Hermione’s been craving bananas for the past couple days, and if I see one more of those yellow bastards I may scream, but otherwise everything is going smoothly. Rose is excited for a baby brother or sister. We think.” Rose couldn’t really talk yet.

   “Cute,” Harry said adoringly. All of this talk of babies made his stomach flutter. They were so tiny and pudgy. “George and Angelina excited to be godparents?”

   “Yup. George has already convinced himself that he’ll be the uncle who buys my kids firewhiskey when I’m not looking.” George had aspirations of being a Sirius kind of godfather.

   Harry laughed. “Then he and I can team up to corrupt your kids indefinitely.”

   Ron used his wand to snip away at the blood red flowers blocking their path. They had some bugs on them that were about the size of Ron’s hand, and he really didn’t want to fuck with them. “As I expected,” Ron chuckled. “Hey, are these begonias?”

   The flower Ron was pointing at was actually a tulip. “Nope.”

   “That one?”

   “That’s a rose. You named your child after one, remember?”

   “We should have brought Neville,” Ron teased.

   Harry rolled his eyes. “We should have made you pay more attention in Herbology.”

   “Is that a begonia?”

   “That’s a fucking daisy, Ron.”

   Amused with himself, Ron chuckled. “Alright, alright.”

   They walked in silence, Harry’s eyes flicking over every single piece of shrubbery. This wasn’t the sort of work he imagined himself doing when he signed up to be an Auror, but he’d take his victories in stride.

   “So Theo never came back to this place?” In all honesty, Ron was just bored and needed conversation to keep him from falling asleep while walking. He wasn’t built for this either.

   Harry knocked a vine out of his way. “He came back once to sell the artifacts and has since been trying to sell the house. Nobody seems to want it, and I can’t blame them. Apparently Nott Sr. has been hiding body parts in the yard.”

   “You know what this place would be good for? It’s like that muggle superhero thing Hermione showed me with the bat guy. How he turned one of his old mansions into an orphanage.”

   Maybe Ron had been spending too much time around his wife, but that actually sounded like a good idea. “Huh.” Harry would consider suggesting that to Theo after this nasty business with the Manor was done. “It does look a little Bruce Wayne-y, now that you mention it.”

   “Was that the bloke’s name?” Ron asked absentmindedly. “Muggles are so great.”

   “There!” Harry pointed at the patch of begonias to the left.

   From his charmed pocket, Ron pulled a shovel out. The blasting spells could destroy Benjy’s old bones, which was an insult to injury that they didn’t want to witness or cause. “Let’s dig.”

   They set to work without the friendly joking and camaraderie they’d shared before. Ron and Harry knew when to keep it serious.

   Their shovels hit the hard, untilled ground with difficulty, as expected. Not even the rotting leaves could soften what winter had chilled so many times without being tended to. Still, Harry and Ron dug.

   It took longer than usual. Ron had a terrible crick in his back when they hit the rectangular container at the bottom of the hole.

   “Let’s get it and get out of here,” Ron muttered.

   Harry put on his black Auror gloves and reached down to scrape away the remaining dirt. “Alright.” He unearthed the box only to find it was locked. Well, that was a stupid precaution.

   He put the box down on the flowers so he could magick off the lock easily.

   “There,” Harry said, moving to open it.

   In a split second, he wished he hadn’t. The knockback jinx that had been sealed in by the lock sent Harry flying into a hedge littered with thorns.

   Harry cried out in surprise, not out of pain. Please. He was Draco’s submissive. It would take a lot more to get him upset. “What the fuck?” Harry laughed, since that seemed like the only reasonable response to a box kicking his arse.

   “Um.” Ron didn’t know quite what to say, laughing with Harry until he looked back down into the box. “ _Um_.”

   “Another note?” Harry asked as he untangled his Auror robes from the sharp thorns. “Or…?”

   When Harry finally got over to look past the lid of the dinged metal box, his heart caught in his throat.

   Harry had once read that there were three kinds of fear. The Gross-Out, horror, and terror. Oddly enough, the ribcage with maggots crawling around what few scraps of flesh were left was not a gross-out for Harry. He’d seen some shit in his life.

   The bones fell under the category of terror. A vague, haunting sense that everything around him had been stolen and replaced with identical copies. Just… Slightly off. That’s how the ribcage got to him.

   It reminded him of mortality and the inevitable day that the Earth would be consumed by its sun, destroying all evidence of Harry’s existence and the existence of everyone he loved. That was admittedly a lot to get from a formation of calcium and marrow, though.

   “What’s the next note say?” Harry asked when he noticed the piece of paper. No way in hell was he reaching into the box that contained his current reminder of the biological apocalypse his home planet would one day endure. Harry was poetic like that.

   Ron didn’t want to stick his hand in there either, so he cast a perfect Wingardium Leviosa and snatched the note out of the air.

   “’Did I surprise you? I’m sure the next location will. But hey, Lupin, why don’t you take a break? You’ve only got two more parts of your friend to pick up, if you’re even still alive right now. You know what? I hope you live, Lupin. I hope you live to see everyone you love fall to the upcoming revolution.’” Ron shifted uneasily before continuing. “’I hope you have to bury your blood-traitor mutt and the Potter’s baby. The next piece is at a friend’s house. Afraid I left it there and forgot it.’”

   “Ugh, fuck, that is so creepy,” Ron shuddered. It was the gross-out, horror, and terror for Ron. The horror lay within the fact that Remus had so many enemies. Remus was a good man! So was Theo! What the hell!

   It led Ron to the surprising conclusion that life wasn’t fair.

   Harry swallowed down his own fears. “Yeah. Let’s get it back to the station.”

   “What are the other two missing parts? The skull, and…”

   “The spine.” Harry didn’t even know what kind of terror that would bring about. A _spine_.

   Harry really was taking all of these body parts personally, but how couldn’t he? They were a mirror image of what he had underneath his skin. What everyone had. A little baby inside a stubborn teenage girl was trying its hardest to grow bones like that.

   Thinking of the baby probably wasn’t wise when at work. Harry knew that Benjy was some couple’s baby, someone’s son. He swore to himself that his little girl would never face wars like he had. Not even horrors of the aftermath of a war.

   “Hey,” Ron said quietly to his partner. “What are you thinking about?” When Harry kept things in, it only made things worse for his mental health—which was a deep concern of Ron’s. “Talk to me.”

   “It’s just sad, y’know? People don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

   In complete agreement, Ron finally braved picking the box up and slamming it shut to take back to the Ministry. Unbeknownst to them, the knockback jinx would still be in effect on the poor intern who would have to process the evidence.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Maggie chuckled to herself and closed the letter from her mother. It had come as snail mail, the true muggle way, and updated her on all of the happenings of her home town. Justin had accidentally burnt his long and golden hair again, and Annie had gotten that promotion she wanted to badly at the bakery. Now she could make icing and get as big and fat as she wanted.

   “Everything smooth sailing in the land of the Scots?” Pansy asked teasingly from her spot on Maggie’s bed.

   “When isn’t it?” Maggie closed the letter and wrestled her red curls back into a ponytail. It was far too hot in her flat for her wild locks to be set free. They always soaked up the sun, even when she had nothing else on.

   Pansy quite appreciated her current nakedness. They’d gotten off from work together, ate dinner, and then gotten off together. It was Pansy’s definition of a fabulous afternoon.

   “Fabulous,” she said out loud just to feel the word on her tongue.

   “What isn’t fabulous to you, Princess?”

   She answered without thinking. “My home town.”

   Now this was a rare opportunity. Pansy loved to discuss her teenage years and young-adult life, but her childhood had been everything but off-limits in conversation. “Oh?” Maggie jumped on it. “Tell me about it.”

   “I grew up in a castle,” Pansy shrugged. “It wasn’t really a town.”

   “Of course you did. You’re my Princess. How was life in the royal family?” Maggie crawled back onto her bed, slinging an arm around Pansy’s exposed waist. Her skin was impeccable from years of the most extreme spa treatments, and that was sort of inspiring.

   “Not as fun as it is being your Princess,” she decided. It was the story of every pureblood family. Cold father, crazy mother… Only Draco had escaped the stereotype.

   Maggie nudged their noses together. “Hey, I realize this is a stupid question I’m about to ask.”

   “You always ask stupid questions.”

   “Am I ever going to get to meet your parents? I mean, if they don’t perish at the thought of their daughter courting a woman.” Maggie wasn’t even sure if Pansy’s parents knew much about their relationship beyond what The Prophet said.

   Pansy grimaced. “You don’t want to meet them. Mother drinks at all hours of the day now and father has begun to lose his memory.”

   “Great!” she responded. “Then your mum will be too drunk to remember me and your father will forget me in a day if things go terribly.”

   The brunette’s jaw dropped and she let out a laugh before giving Maggie’s arm a smack. “You’re terrible! The king and queen would be shocked and offended.”

   “I’m sure they were shocked enough when you grew up and didn’t turn out awful.”

   “Wow, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Pansy joked, still feigning offense herself.

   In a feat of strength, Maggie yanked Pansy back on top of her. “I know. I’m your knight in shining armor.”

   “Cinderella, Cinderella, let down your long hair,” Pansy joked.

   “Wrong princesses. That was Rapunzel.”

   With a roll of her eyes, Pansy shoved Maggie back down onto the mattress. “Shut up, Princess Charming.”


	24. Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been starting the chapters of a new multi-chapter fic that’s coming up soon ;). You guys will love it, and it’ll be an interesting change of pace from domestic Drarry that I love so dearly.

**Chapter 24: Rights**

   Ron and Harry lucked out on which house they checked first in regard to Marcus’ ‘friend’. At first, Harry had been worried about that referring to Malfoy Manor, but it was only slightly better in that it referred to the Parkinson Mansion.

   A slew of house elves let Ron and Harry in, and they were able to duck out of there with another body part in another box. Thankfully, the enslaved elves seemed to know where all their masters’ dirty secrets were. Even the ones that Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson had forgotten were there.

   Their luck ran out when they reopened the box (containing a fucking spine), and just when they thought Nott Sr. was getting lazy, he got them good.

   “There’s no note,” Harry murmured, perplexed. Saying it out loud left a hollow feeling in his stomach.

   The Ministry morgue had silver slabs and occupied by countless morticians, forensics experts, and Aurors trying to get some answers on their cases. Harry and Ron had gotten the slab all the way in the back because of their cold case status, even though they really had heated things up.

   “Hm?” Ron asked, unable to stop watching the mortician trying to piece the body together. It was like a train-wreck; he couldn’t look away.

   “There’s no hint as to where the next piece is. There’s nothing here.”

   Ron finally snapped his head around to look at his partner. “What? Then how are we supposed to—?”

   Harry grimaced and cut him off. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

   “But we have someone behind bars who does know,” Ron pointed out.

   “Who refuses to speak to us until we emotionally scar his kid.”

   With a huff, Ron leaned across the table so Harry was forced to listen to him. “We lose either way, Harry. We have to honor the case and get Theo in on this because if this gets thrown back into the cold case archives, then everyone involved will be dead by the time a new Auror is assigned.”

   “Ron,” Harry snapped to silence him. The other Aurors in the room and their piles of evidence seemed to all stare accusingly at the two. The prying eyes came with the Head Auror position.

   “Benjy was an Order member, Harry. With your parents and with mine. This is about honoring the dead, and you know it.”

   Of course Harry knew it. He still blamed himself for the way Death Eaters killed people protecting him in both wars. They’d made themselves human shields just like James and Lily had to keep Harry safe.

   “Harry,” Ron said again when it looked as if his friend’s mind had left the conversation entirely.

   “What about the people living? Theo’s living, and he has to remember horrible things every day.” Harry frowned. “Dumbledore once told me not to pity the dead, but to pity the living.”

   “Yeah, well, he also raised you like a lamb to the slaughter and lied and avoided us at any occasion, then left us some cryptic gifts. I’m going to venture to say that even though Albus had some wisdom and positive influence, I don’t think we should trust that entirely,” Ron muttered bitterly.

   It really was irritating how much sense Ron was making, but somewhere still in the caverns of his heart where he’d been influenced by Draco’s Slytherin ways, he saw this as a net loss. Could a dead man really be hurt?

   Theo was actually rather capable of being hurt. He had skin on his bones and free will and thought. Harry wasn’t so sure if Benjy would really care. The afterlife still confused him—what did the resurrection stone really do?—and hurting a living person felt worse than hurting a deceased person.

   Still, being an Auror was not about feelings and philosophy.

   With his teeth clenched, Harry nodded. “Let me just owl Draco first. He should be there.”

   “Okay,” Ron nodded. He was relieved that Harry had come around without too much prodding. Ron Weasley wasn’t a big fan of hurting people either.

   With a heavy heart, he watched Harry shuffle out of the room to send a letter to his husband. In that moment, he decided that as Harry’s best friend, he should have probably made more of an effort to get along with Draco’s best friend.

   Ron and Theo were both sidekicks to the power couple and knew it. They could probably have a lot to talk about, and near-identical complaints about Draco and Harry. They could swap secrets and embarrassing memories, which Ron was severely lacking in information on Draco.

   He’d take Theo out for drinks afterwards. Maybe they’d get drunk and stupid enough to forget the day before.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Draco wasn’t even at the hospital by the time Harry’s letter arrived.

   “We can’t ‘just apparate in’, Healer Malfoy,” his boss snarled at him on the other side of a London taxicab. “This process has a strict protocol.”

   Augustus Pye made Draco’s stomach churn along with the metal trap they had been corner into. He hated cars, especially ones with drivers who smelt like they hadn’t showered in weeks. “I think I may throw up.” The city whizzed around them, muggles and concrete buildings flying past Draco’s eyes.

   “You’re a Healer, cast an anti-nausea spell.”

   Draco didn’t just to spite him. He hoped that if he threw up, it’d be all over the Head Healer’s lap. “If the kid’s parent already knows about magic, I don’t think a trip to St. Mungo’s is entirely out of the question,” he grumbled.

   “Really? Because your ancestors fought for laws to keep muggles out of our hospital.”

   “Really? Because I wasn’t even born then,” Draco snarked right back. Whose side was this asshole even on? “You’re always telling me to not expect special treatment because of my lineage. I imagine this would apply to negatives, too.”

  Pye snorted. “Your job assignment has nothing to do with your lineage. You’re the only Healer on retainer with experience with heart murmurs. This child has one on top of her magic, which is what our specialist found. You’re here to treat her heart.”

   “I’ve been forced into a taxi to treat her heart?” he asked miserably.

   “You’ve been forced into a taxi because her father is a muggle and refuses to leave the child alone with us.” It was the father’s right, but Pye really wished it wasn’t. “So we’re killing three birds with one stone. I register the girl with the Ministry, you run circulatory tests, and the specialist continues his analysis of how to keep her little hiccups of magic to a minimum.”

   Draco didn’t care. “We’re in a _car_.”

   That finally drilled into Pye’s thick skull that it wasn’t really anything except for the transportation that had Draco frazzled. “What did I say about that nausea spell?”

   “We could have apparated into a nearby alleyway, or a pub, or a store, or anything—“

   “Here we are,” the cabbie said before turning around expectantly for the cash. Draco was close to digging some gold coins out of his pocket before he realized that the man was a muggle.

   Healer Pye paid him in strange paper money before stepping out of the cab. Draco grunted before evacuating the car like it was on fire.

   “Fucking weirdoes,” grumbled the cabbie. He drove off before realizing the plump man had given him a hundred pounds instead of twenty.

   Wizards really couldn’t handle the idea of muggle money.

   “Third floor,” Pye said to Draco as they walked up to the glass doors and windows of the building. It was sort of an architectural nightmare, but it was at least easy to find. From reading the signs, Draco could tell that the first two floors belonged to a magical chiropractor who specialized in misaligned spines. Draco didn’t even want to think about spines for some reason. The idea just grossed him out that day.

   Draco rushed up the stairs of the building, eager to get the hell out of there.

   He excused himself to the bathroom once he got up there to avoid awkward social interaction with muggles. It would most likely be some stammering nobody who was utterly disturbed by the fact that wizards had existed among the human race for years without his knowledge.

   As Draco finished up washing his hands, he could hear said nobody talking.

   “…cousin who was a wizard and an aunt who was a witch, but that’s it. I’ve really got nobody else in the family like that.”

   Draco emerged from the specialist’s bathroom.  Her name was Doctor Mia Moore, and she was busy getting a full family history.

   “Healer Malfoy,” Pye introduced gruffly, interrupting the little interview and for the hundredth time forgetting Draco had changed his last name.

   The muggle man gave the Healer a nod and opened his mouth to introduce himself before Pye spoke again.

   “The child is over here,” Pye motioned to the baby in its stroller as if Draco was having trouble identifying the child in the room. “You’ll have to go into the other room to perform the procedure.”

   “Woah,” the muggle said. “Why?”

   “Because you cannot technically witness magic until I fill out the proper registration.”

   Draco could not properly articulate how little he cared about magic laws in front of muggles, but he did it anyway. It beat being arrested, even if his husband could bail him out in record time. “Fine.” Draco took the stroller and ushered it into a private clinic room, giggling baby girl still inside.

   The heart murmur wasn’t as problematic as Pye had made it out to be in the taxicab. It was a benign murmur that sounded a little bit like a wind blowing into an open window. Her heart was just slightly mutant, was all.

   “You’re surrounded by alarmists,” Draco cooed happily at the child as his wand waved over her chest. He knew he’d be the same way with his little girl.

   She’d been on his and Harry’s mind constantly. They were talking names, middle names, preschools… It felt surreal.

   Draco covered all of his bases with the examination, his wand weaving an image of her beating heart before him. When he was absolutely sure nothing was wrong aside from the sound, Draco put down his wand and the image burst into sparkly flecks, falling at the girl’s feet. Her pudgy little hands reached out to grab them, smiling all the way.

   “Aw. You’re sort of bearable to be with.”

   It was only then that Draco realized he didn’t even know the patient’s name. Rather than asking her while she was distracted with all of the shiny objects, he wheeled her back into the main lobby where the other adults resided.

   The muggle man nearly tripped over himself in getting back to his daughter. “What is it?” he asked Draco as if the Slytherin were about to inform him of his daughter’s imminent death.

   “The murmur is what we would classify as ‘innocent’,” Draco told him confidently. “It simply means her heart beats differently in a way that doesn’t harm her circulation or musculature. She’s just fine.”

   “Thanks,” Dudley breathed, relieved.

   “Any time. Now, I never think I got her name or yours…?”

   The muggle man outstretched his hand. “She’s Suzy and I’m Dudley. Dudley Dursley.”

   Draco froze. “ _What_?”

   “Are you hard of hearing?” Dudley tried to speak up. “SORRY, I’M—“

   “I heard you,” Draco snapped. He ignored the chilly glare from his boss like he usually did, eyes boring into Dudley’s skull. All of those stories Harry had told him swirled around in his head. The time he told Draco about the way Dudley had never let him alone for being gay in the summer after fourth year was actually on their third date.

   “Uh.” Why did this guy seem so familiar? Dudley tried to look to Dr. Moore for help.

   Draco took a step closer to him and tilted his head to the side. “You don’t look too strong.”

   “What?”

   “I think I could easily wrestle you into a cupboard under some stairs and lock the door,” Draco snarled with a sadistic grin. “Harry said you were on the wrestling team, actually. Are you aware of how homoerotic that is? Pinning another sweaty bloke down on a mat in tight, tight spandex while people watched to prove your dominance? That’s so gay.”

   Dudley gaped at him. Oh, fuck. “So I’m going to guess that you’re Draco?”

   “So I’m going to guess that you’re a run-of-the-mill twat who killed animals in his childhood? That’s one of the first signs of a serial killer, but I don’t think you could hurt a fly.”

   “Oh my god, that was _one time_! I accidentally stepped on the hamster, no matter what Harry says. I didn’t want it to die,” Dudley huffed.

   “I believe him over you,” Draco announced boisterously. “You murdered a rodent.” He felt himself growing more and more sick with the other man by the second.

   “Did not!”

   “Did too!”

   “What the hell is going on here?” Augustus Pye demanded. He still had half of the registration papers to fill out.

   Draco shot him a malicious glare. “This man tortured my husband in his childhood in every way imaginable!” He ignored the fact that Draco had tortured Harry in every way imaginable at Hogwarts. Those were not his proudest moments. “And now his child gets to be one of us. I didn’t think any magic could survive in the Dursley line. Looks like the Evans family won out, though.”

   “I was a royal jerk—“ Dudley started, prepared to launch into an apology that Harry hadn’t even really needed.

   “A completely self-centered and uncaring bastard, yes.”

   He took a deep breath and nodded at Draco. The other wizard and witch in the room had given up on their bickering and begun to fill out the registration themselves. Pye knew Draco’s dramatics and how cross he was when they were interrupted, and at least they weren’t at the hospital where everyone could see him disrespect his superior.

   “Yeah. ‘M sorry about that,” Dudley began again. “You’re right.”

   “Of course I’m right, I’m always right,” Draco snapped at him. The taxi ride had jarred his emotional state and he would take it out on this bastard all he wanted.

   Dudley gaped at him. Wow, Harry really must have loved the man. From what Dudley was seeing, Draco seemed like he could go from courteous doctor to raging banshee in mere seconds.

   Draco sighed in disgust. “Have you apologized to Harry about it?”

   “Yeah, actually. I saw him about a week ago, ran into him when I needed help with Suzy.”

   “Oh.” Draco hadn’t known about that. Between Harry’s work and their upcoming baby, they hadn’t had much time to discuss their days with one another. They would usually lie in bed together and recount every detail of their most bizarre experiences to one another, feet nudged together and hands roaming along each other’s warmth.

   It was a stupid thought to have, but Draco wanted to curl back up in his bed with Harry right then and there. He wanted to kiss away every line of abuse that had been hurled at him as a child and tear down every bar that haunted his windows.

   “I know what my parents did was wrong,” Dudley said quietly. “And I really didn’t want this to be the way we met. I don’t know much about magic, and I kind of need Harry’s help with this one. I was hoping we could get along.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s a bit too little and too late for my taste,” he scoffed. “But you’re right about one thing: you need Harry. Whether or not he’ll be there for you is the real question.”

   “This really isn’t how I wanted us to meet.”

   “So you’ve said.”

   “Our kids will be at Hogwarts at the same time,” Dudley offered, even though they’d be two years apart. “They’re kinda cousins, right?”

   Draco didn’t even want to know what Harry had told him about the adoption. That man was in for a stern talking-to when he got home. “Your kid will never force my little girl to shun her magic like you did to Harry. And my daughter will have way more Christmas presents.”

   Nobody else in the room knew what the Healer was referring to except for Dudley. Pye and Moore had moved on to discussing details as to Suzy’s enrollment in a wizarding school somewhere far away from the family feud.

   “Okay.” Dudley figured he’d give Draco that. How Harry’s spouse could be angrier with Dudley than Harry himself, he didn’t know.

   Of course, Draco knew. It was because he happened to value his husband even more than Harry himself did. Harry had only known a childhood of neglect and abuse while Draco knew what a spoiled, high-lifestyle pampering was. Draco knew his Harry deserved the very best and hadn’t gotten it until Draco came into the picture after school.

   Harry got lavish gifts, extravagant vacations, surprise bouquets of flowers and massage gift cards, and chocolate from around the world. Draco treated him at every opportunity, just like he would treat their baby.

   Since the situation had been broken down for Dudley without too much resistance, Draco considered himself the victor in the encounter. “Your kid is fine,” he reminded Dudley gruffly. “So I’ll be on my way.”

   That actually grabbed Pye’s attention, but Draco had excused himself to the private clinic room before his boss could be a prick to him in person. “Malfoy,” he called out, visibly annoyed.

   “Tip the cabbie for me.” With a loud crack, he apparated into the middle of Diagon Alley. There was no law against muggles hearing magic, after all.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   With a dozen roses in one hand and his fist clenched in the other, Draco was probably sending a mixed message when he burst into his home.

   “Draco?” Harry called from the baby’s room.

   “When the hell did you see your cousin?”

   Oh, fuck. Harry stood from his place on the rocking chair to meet Draco downstairs before the man entered the room with his flowers and anger all at once. “I wanted to tell you, there was just no time and I sort of forgot—“

   Much to Harry’s surprise, Draco shoved the flowers in his face. “I’m not that mad,” he sighed. “At you, anyway. I yelled at him and then I bought you roses. Not because I’m sorry for yelling at your sorry excuse for a relative, but to remind you that you’re better than him.”

   “Oh.” Harry accepted the flowers, smiling to himself. Draco was such a nutter, and he wished he could have been there to see his wrath taken out on Dudley. “When did you two run into each other?”

   “Work. His kid’s got magic and he hardly deserves that.” It had been torture for Draco and Harry to add a little one to their household, and Dudley and his wife most likely hadn’t even had to try too hard.

   Harry nodded and unconsciously tipped the roses towards his nose. “These are lovely,” he told Draco. Draco’s little gifts always made him happy.

   That innocent, surprised smile of Harry’s face made Draco melt. “My sweet boy.”

   Draco cupped his face and went in for a kiss against those pretty pink lips.

   “It makes me crazy that your aunt and uncle were so terrible to you,” Draco murmured, pulling him close. It was a warm, possessive grip that Harry loved. “Let me treat you tonight.”

   With an encouraging mewl, Harry nudged their hips together. This was going much better than he could have imagined when he had fretted over introducing his cousin to his husband. At least the next time (if there was a next time, Harry wasn’t really sure he even wanted Dudley around no matter how sorry he was) the boundaries would be clearer.

   “Tell me what you want me to do for you,” Draco requested. Comforting through sex was his favorite method.

   Before Harry could open his mouth to detail a fantasy more appropriate for a medieval dungeon, Grace popped in the door frame.

   “You’ve got some mac ‘n’ cheese in the fridge,” she stated, eyes a little wild with hunger. “I’m going to make it. Want some?” She could really care less if they were naked and moaning when she walked in. Grace was eating for two, and the baby apparently needed some artificial cheese.

   “No,” Draco said, flustered. As someone who often forgot that he and Harry weren’t the only people on earth, Draco had some trouble remembering they were no longer truly alone in their own home.

   “Good. Because I’m gonna put it between two pieces of bread like a grilled-cheese sandwich. Can I do that on the stove?”

   That sounded strangely good to Harry. “Yeah, go ahead,” he laughed. With his arm around Draco’s waist, he felt safe enough. Grace wasn’t laughing at them or belittling them for being together, so she was automatically on Harry’s list of straight people that he approved of.

   “Thanks,” Grace nodded before scampering back off down the stairs. She’d made herself at home in her room, but she knew how protective people got over their precious kitchens. Her aunt was one of those people, but she didn’t want to think about her aunt.

   Draco shook his head, smiling. “Boner-killer,” he said affectionately.

   “Watch it, or you might wind up sounding like you don’t hate her.”

   “You won’t snitch on me,” Draco declared confidently. He gave Harry’s arse a hard squeeze. “You fancy me too much.”

   “But you fancy _me_ too much to be mad atme for long,” Harry reminded him.

   With a roll of his eyes, Draco pinched his side. “Aside from your cousin, any other secrets you’re hiding from me?”

   “I’m going to need an intense interrogation. Hot lamps, tied down to a chair, most likely naked…”

   “Prat.” Draco swatted at him.

   “Actually,” Harry said, thinking of his tough day at work. “I imagine you didn’t get my owl to the hospital, or you’d be angry with me for that, too.”

   Draco cocked his head to the side.

   “Well, for starters, we found Benjy Fenwick’s spine in the Parkinson estate.”

   “Predictable,” Draco nodded even though it wasn’t at all. He’d always thought Pansy’s ditzy parents were supporters in spirit than in flesh and bone. There wasn’t even a question as for how the investigation into their war activities would be refueled in light of new evidence. Draco would just have to keep Pansy out of it.

   “And there was no note with it,” Harry continued, trying to avoid eye-contact. He didn’t want to be the one to disappoint Draco, but it seemed he had to be. “So we have no idea where the skull is.”

   Apparently, Draco was going to have to protect both of his best friends. “So that only _he_ knows where it is,” he muttered bitterly. Harry nodded. Draco let a slow, hissing breath out to try and calm down. He wanted to kill the man that would hurt his best friend like that, and knew it wasn’t Harry’s fault that Theo was going to be called in. “And there’s no other way…?”

   “I’ve been trying to think of other ways, but if I don’t do it, Ron will.”

   “I don’t blame you,” Draco reminded him quietly, running his knuckles down his arm.

   Harry shrugged. “I kind of do. What if there’s some overarching clue in all the notes? What if all the locations have a center point or something? I tried looking into all of it, but I got nothing.”

   “Don’t make yourself crazy over this. That’s playing right into Marcus’ hands.”

   “Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess.”

   “I’ll assemble a team,” Draco decided to make Harry feel better. “All of Theo’s friends, Colin, my parents, everyone who supports him in one room. I get that it’s your job to do this, and that you don’t always like that job.” It was Draco’s equivalent of getting into a taxi cab.

   “That’s it for ‘secrets’, though,” Harry shrugged, desperate for a topic change.

   “I think I’ll still have to interrogate you.”

   Harry brought him in for a kiss. “I think you’re right.”


	25. Blackout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the angstiest this fic will get. Woohoo! TW for blood, weed, and general whoop-ass.

**Chapter 25: Blackout**

   “Could you maybe for once in your miserable, pathetic life not completely screw someone over?” Harry begged of the man in front of him and was met only with silence.

   Marcus Nott hadn’t budged, and Harry had a half hour to accomplish his last-ditch effort in breaking him before Theo showed up. The whole ‘family’ (it was a loosely used term for their friends and relatives and all the people that couldn’t seem to distance themselves from Draco and Harry Malfoy-Potter) would be there in a half hour as a barrier for Theo.

   The man himself had agreed to talking to his father and had gone so far as to hush his boyfriend when Colin started talking about how he would be there for support. Theo was being eerily calm.

   Harry assumed it was a defense mechanism, like when he lit a joint a few minutes later. Looking at Marcus, whose hair was slicked back even in prison, he laughed about that to himself.

   The man could request to see his son, but he could never change him.

   “Theo is a better man than you,” Harry went on, this time with less desperation. “And he’s so gay. Merlin’s beard, he’s gay. Gayer than me. Gayer than Draco.”

   That clearly annoyed the older man, so Harry pressed on. Even if Nott Sr. spoke in anger, it would still be speaking.

   “In May at London Pride, he went shirtless. The year before that, he actually hitched a ride on a float and snogged one of the drag queens on it. That was before he and Colin got together, of course. Theo’s a faithful man.”

   A hard, deep line of anger formed on the prisoner’s forehead. It was one of the first signs that he hadn’t been comatose the entire interview.

   Harry grabbed the opportunity for all it was worth. He leaned across the metal table that Marcus was chained to so he was close enough to intimidate.

   “I’m sure you’ve read about him and Colin in the papers. They’ve moved in together, Colin’s cat gets along really well with his owner’s boyfriend. It’s a cute little tabby,” Harry drawled. “There’s this coffee shop that lets you bring your cat in so it can play with the other cats, and there are toys everywhere… Theo and Colin sometimes go on dates there. They _love_  that cat.”

   Anger, but still silence.

   “Are you really going to sit there and let me talk like this? Wow, this place really has defeated you. I guess I could just start detailing all the wild escapades he and Draco had when they were both single and you wouldn't even mind."

   "But I bet you'd rather hear about how they settled down. Who really cares how much they screwed around from age eighteen to twenty-six? Or who they screwed around with? I certainly don't care. The past is the past, right?" Draco was screwing around with Harry now. That was all that mattered.

   That little ramble had clearly cemented Marcus' hatred of Harry Malfoy-Potter. He looked on the edge of snarling something out even though it most certainly wouldn't be the location of the body parts of his murder victim.

   “Anyway, nowadays Theodore has his Colin. Colin’s a muggleborn, remember that? Yeah, they donate to muggle charities all the time, and Colin’s studio holds benefits for muggleborn rights associations. Oh, did you know that Colin’s a photographer? Yeah, so not only is Theo dating a guy who likes men and women, but he’s an _artist_.”

   The word ‘artist’ struck something in Marcus. He shifted in his chair and swallowed down a lump of hatred.

   “Yeah, an _artist_ ,” Harry oozed out again like the two-syllables were chocolate lava cakes in his mouth. “And I’m going to give you one guess as to who his muse—“

   An unexpected knock on the door of the interrogation room shook Harry out of what had turned into him just kind of torturing Marcus. Harry sighed and looked at the two-way mirror to see himself reflected back. On the other side, a small crowd could see in. Had everyone come early?

   Harry huffed before leaving the room, forgetting to say a fond farewell to the man who he currently despised.

   Carefully and quietly, Harry shut the door behind himself like he’d been trained to in the Auror Academy. The last thing everyone needed was a convict on the loose.

   “Harry,” Lucius said, half as a greeting and half as a request. “Do the lights in that room turn off?”

   “What?” Turning around to see him, Harry wasn’t half as scared of him as he used to be when he and Draco were dating. Not fearing Lucius Abraxas Malfoy would be his first mistake of the day. “Oh, hullo.”

   “Do the lights in that room turn off?” Lucius asked again.

   “’Yes, hello Harry. How are you doing, son-in-law of mine? You’re looking delightful—‘”

   Just because Harry was coming off a high from making a Death Eater miserable didn’t mean that Lucius would let him enjoy it. “Harry, listen and listen well.”

   “Uh,” he paused. “Alright.”

   “If Draco wasn’t married to you, he’d be married to Theodore.”

   “ _What_? That’s insane—“

   Lucius’ glare silenced him. “Believe me, I could have made it happen if you weren’t so damned persistent in your affections. Their combined blood purity is everything I wanted for Draco at the time and they were already friends. I could have made it happen.” The Malfoy patriarch sounded a little bit like he resented Harry for not giving him the chance to test his matchmaker skills.

   “Where in the hell are you going with this?”

   “I’m going,” Lucius clarified snootily. “To tell you that I have seen Theodore grow up. He spent a great deal of time at the Manor as a child for obvious reasons. He and Draco grew close, and he always got a mention in letters back home from Hogwarts. I consider Theodore family.” They actually were second cousins twice removed, but Lucius figured mentioning that after his early marriage plans for Draco would be uncouth.

   “Yeah, well, Draco considers him family too. I already feel bad enough about this,” Harry huffed. The last thing he needed was an ethics lecture from his father-in-law who had housed Voldemort.

   In a rare moment of softness, Lucius put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to agitate you further, Harry.” It was almost fatherly. “I know how having that muggleborn in your home must be driving you mad.” And just like that, the Lucius he knew and kind of loved was back.

   “She’s doing fine,” Harry sighed.

   “What a rave review. You sound over the moon, my apologies. I hope you never accept my advice ever again because you clearly have so much more knowledge as a twenty-something than I do now.”

   Harry didn’t even want to dignify that with a response. He knew where Draco got the sarcasm gene from, at least.

   “Just let me in the interrogation room for five minutes,” Lucius said, revealing what he wanted.

   For the second time that day, Harry’s conversation with a former dark wizard was interrupted. This time, it was by one very, very exhausted Theodore Nott. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years and like Colin was at him side to prop him up rather than to be there for him emotionally. Colin didn’t look well-rested either.

   “Hey,” Colin greeted Harry with that same chipper spirit, just a little wilted. “How are you holding up? How’s Grace?”

   Oh, fuck. Why did Colin have to be so nice? “I’m fine, and she’s doing well. I should be asking you that question,” he said without the ability to hide how his voice was wracked with guilt.

   Theo picked up on it right away, so the shoulder that Lucius’ hand had previously occupied was then replaced by Theo’s. “Harry. I love you dearly. You married Draco, who is my brother. But if you give me one more pitying look I will not hesitate to clock you right in the fucking jaw.”

   “Point taken.”

   “Theodore,” Lucius began, trying to talk some sense into the boy. “You’re emotionally compromised right now.” He was just trying to be every needy boy’s father that day.

   Theo wasn’t having any of it. He put his free hand on Lucius’ shoulder and shook his head. “Lucius, let’s just get this over with.”

   With a sigh, Lucius backed down. His plan was still brewing in his mind, but if it was against Theo’s wishes… Well, why upset him more? Lucius wasn’t as heartless as the papers made him out to be.

   Behind Lucius, the rest of the family filed in. Every Weasley in existence and their spouses and significant others along with Pansy Parkinson and that spitfire girlfriend of hers had shown up as if it was a damn dinner party. The only one not in attendance was Hermione, who not only didn’t need to see more purists to stress her out, but was feeling faint with baby weight at home.

   Leading the crowd, Draco came to pat his friend on the back once he lowered his vice-grips on Lucius and Harry. “Hey,” Draco said as if they were meeting for tea.

   “Hey.”

   “You look like shit.”

   “And you look like a go-go boy going through an Oscar Wilde phase in a muggle college.”

   “There’s my Theo.”

   “Go fuck yourself,” he told Draco fondly. That had put him in an infinitely better mood (as banter with best friends should). “I’m going to go talk to my father now.”

   Colin wasn’t entirely sure how that exchange had helped Theo, but it had. “Love you,” he offered.

   “I love you too,” Theo said quietly, turning to press his forehead to Colin’s. “I’m fine, okay? I know it sounds crazy, but I knew this would happen. I just… I knew I’d see him again after the trial. I’m not giving him the power to affect me, and I’m taking you out to dinner after this.”

   Auror Weasley stepped forward, figuring their pints of firewhiskey could be swapped another day. They had all the days they wanted.

   “Okay,” Colin agreed as if there were any question in the first place. He was proud of Theo for handling this so well.

   Without another word, the prodigal son entered the interview room. Ron quickly turned on the microphone that would allow the audience huddled in the prison hall to hear what was going on within. They all had front-row seats as Theo moved to use the chair that Harry had previously used to bother Marcus.

   For what felt like one time too many, a hand was on his shoulder. When Harry looked up, he was relieved to see it was Sirius. “Hey.”

   “Hey,” Sirius replied, Remus at his side. Olivia was at Alex’s house so she wouldn’t have to be dragged into all of the mess that was the two wizarding wars.

   Both of the elder men quickly greeted Lucius and Narcissa when she finally worked up the nerve to enter the prison. She’d wanted Lucius to go in first, just to make sure nobody could see their faces from the prisoner’s side of the glass. Only when Lucius had spent fifteen minutes waving at Marcus from the two-way mirror with no reaction had he sent his peacock patronus to Narcissa with the message that they were in the clear.

   “Theodore,” Marcus greeted him solemnly, voice crackling over the bugged room.

   “Where’s the skull?”

   Marcus made a tsk, tsk noise with his teeth. “No. You answer me first, considering you never answered my letters.”

   “Because you’re a sociopath, yeah,” Theo nodded. He was feeling confident, and no matter how many times his father had threatened him with violence or actually used it against him, Theo had never seen him in handcuffs before.

   Those cuffs and the ones on his ankles made Theo feel safe. Protected, at the least.

   “Now, now, let’s not name-call. That’s not what I came here to do.”

   “You didn’t even come here. You were walked here by guards because _you’re in prison_.” Nott Sr. was acting like a villain in a fucking superhero movie as if he had some grand plan. It was delusional and Theo didn’t really like superhero movies.

   Marcus dropped the cool demeanor when he realized Theo wasn’t buying it. “You are ruining your bloodline. Your whole family, your ancestors, your history, you’re killing them all when you don’t take a wife.”

   “Don’t care.”

   “What the hell do you mean you don’t care?” his father snarled back. “This isn’t about you. You’re a child in a greater scheme of wizarding purity. You hold the blood of kings and conquerors in your veins, and it is your sworn duty to pass it on.”

   “Nah,” Theo shrugged. “I think I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure this name and this blood dies out.”

   Marcus’ breathing sped up. It had become clear to him that he had lost power over what Theodore said and did and would never get it back. It scared him more than he could say. “You—You listen to me or I won’t give you the information.”

   “That’s not part of the deal,” Theo murmured, trying to keep in mind the point of this meeting in the first place. “I’m here, now quit fucking around. Where is Benjy Fenwick’s skull?”

   “The last time I saw you I wasn’t permitted to speak. My trial was a farce—“

   “Why, because I kept you alive?”

   “Because I couldn’t freeze your assets for betraying the family!”

   Theo had seen that one coming, and spent the whole night preparing retorts. “You literally killed a member of your family. My mother. Are you forgetting that, or are you just mad after being locked up so long?”

   “She was dying anyway!”

   The shout struck Theo into silence. Knowing that this was the only moment that he could regain power, Marcus pressed on.

   “The Dark Lord demanded I kill for him to prove my loyalty. Your mother was ill, Theodore. She couldn’t serve me as a wife any longer.”

   “So that means,” Theo spoke up, hands shaking. “That out of all the people in the world, you kill _her_?” He hadn’t known his mum was sick.

   “You weren’t meant to witness it. That was why I sent you to your room.”

   “Is this supposed to make me feel better or something? Because you’re doing a pretty shit job at it,” the son remarked in a sad effort to keep his cool.

   “Haven’t I already told you that this isn’t about you? This is about descendants. I see who you’ve become now, you selfish and unnatural boy. You’re not the son I raised and you do not deserve your purity. The day you come to your senses and return with a wife is the only day I tell you anything,” the elder growled. He’d gotten his message across.

   From the other side of the glass, Remus and Sirius had to grip each other’s hands tight to keep from launching themselves into the room and shoving a bottle of Veritaserum down his throat. They’d come so far in burying their friend, only to be stopped by homophobia. It was wrong on every level Remus could think of.

   Calmly, Theo stood in the face of such blatant prejudice. It wasn’t as if he had expected his father to have knitted him a sweater for inmates arts and crafts day. After all, the knitting needles could serve as a great shank.

   “Well. I hope you die in your cell cold and alone, hoping that someday I’ll come back,” Theo told his father cheerily. How else was one supposed to respond to the person that murdered their mother? “Because I never will.”

   Just to be sure Theo got the last word, he walked out as fast as his long, pureblood legs could carry him.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “Well, that was a disaster,” Ron said once he’d ushered the last of his family out of the building. Blaise had taken Ginny out hand-in-hand, and only George had lingered around to see if he could slip a prank product under the door that would make Nott Sr. smell like a public toilet.

   The only people who remained were Draco, his parents, and the two Aurors. Theo had gone off with his boyfriend to dinner as promised.

   “Pretty much,” Harry nodded. He’d taken a seat on the bench outside of the interrogation room and Draco had taken to rubbing his back soothingly.

   “Not your fault,” Draco whispered in his ear as he smoothed his onyx hair. “Let’s go home.”

   Harry was about to give in and abandon the interrogation entirely before Lucius opened his mouth. “Harry, do the lights in the interrogation room turn off?”

   “Yeah,” he snapped, patience having dried. “There’s a switch.”

   Lucius and his cane made their way from where he had rested against the wall. When he found the strange muggle switch Harry was talking about, he flipped it down.

   The room where Marcus was being held went completely dark. A quiet and distant cry was heard from the room, but that was it since they turned the microphone off.

   “Lucius,” Narcissa hissed. Whatever her husband was doing, she had clearly argued with him before about it.

   Harry and Ron both stood, confused. “What’s going on here?” Ron asked, at least ten thousand percent sure that Lucius had flipped sides to being a Death Eater again. This was a shit time to do it and break his buddy out of jail, too.

   “Five minutes,” Lucius told Harry, their eyes locking. Somewhere in his mess of wedding memories, Harry remembered what Lucius had told him. Lucius protected his family, no matter what. It was his only drive, his sole purpose.

   Harry knew what Lucius was going in to do for Theo, for his son’s best friend, for Harry’s case, and for Remus and Sirius’ friend.

   “Five minutes.”

   “Harry, what are you doing?” Ron demanded.

   Harry handed Lucius a pen and paper from his pocket, not answering his Auror partner. Whatever weird Malfoy family connection they had left Ron out in the cold. Unbeknownst to Ron, Lucius and Harry had just agreed to break the law together with their respective spouses watching on. Narcissa was concerned while Draco seemed mildly amused by it all.

   When Ron saw Lucius enter, wide-eyed and confused, Narcissa stepped in to explain.

   She grabbed Ron’s elbow and pulled him to the side. “This is what we liked to refer to when Lucius worked in the Ministry as a ‘Temporary Blackout’. You didn’t see anything, you didn’t hear anything. As far as you’re concerned the next five minutes didn’t exist,” she said sweetly in a mothering tone she’d mastered so well.

   When Ron heard faint yelling and crunches from the interrogation room, he understood. “Oh, we are so losing our jobs over this.”

   “Pffft,” Draco laughed. “They can’t fire their best Aurors.” Especially if everyone kept their mouths shut.

   The next couple of minutes were filled with an array of sounds that made Ron cringe in sympathetic pain.

   Crashes, thumps, muffled screams, the sound of spells firing. Lucius never said a word, but every metal clang, burst, and smash from the other room sounded like footsteps from where Harry and Ron were standing. Those brick walls sure were thick.

   Narcissa had taken to keeping guard, eyes peeled for any pesky prison workers who could walk by and see them doing their dirty work. She kept her family safe, too.

   Soon, the thumps died down.

   Silence consumed their every nervous breath. Harry felt the tips of his fingers tingle. He hadn’t been in the right frame of mind when he let Lucius in there, but there was no interrupting him without attracting attention. So, he was left to stare at the linoleum floor.

   When Lucius emerged, not a hair was out of place. He still held himself tall as only a rich man with nobility in his heritage could.

   Gingerly, he handed his son-in-law the paper back, an address neatly written in Lucius’ handwriting. “Marcus is going to need a Healer,” he said airily before holding his arm out for Narcissa to wrap hers around. Her blue velvet gown went fittingly with Lucius’ crisp dressrobes and navy vest.

   “I’ll owl someone,” Draco suggested. After all, he knew plenty of Healers that he wanted to make miserable by dumping this on. Augustus Pye was at the top of his list.

_The prisoner just went wild after Theo left the room! He wouldn’t stop thrashing, and hurt himself in the process. Pye, everyone here can corroborate my story._

   “How did you…?” Ron asked before running to the light switch and flicking it on. He wished he hadn’t.

   The window into the room was smeared with blood. The table had toppled over and one of the chairs had snapped in two while the other remained firmly embedded in the brick wall. A crumpled man was still chained to the table, too.

   “Merlin’s left nut.” At least Lucius was on their side for sure now.

   Draco said goodbye to his mother and father with their traditional hugs and kisses. He even got to sneak one in on Lucius’ cheek. Nothing said ‘father and son bonding’ quite like a father maiming someone who had caused his son and his son’s friends trouble.

   Harry ran into the interrogation room to furiously cast some cleaning spells while Draco made dinner plans for the following evening with Lucius and Narcissa.

   Just as quickly as the blonde couple had appeared, they left with a regal air about them and with Harry to clean up after them.

   “Bloody purebloods,” Ron muttered to himself even though he was one. “Never going to understand them.” After all, Marcus Nott didn’t have a soul as far was Ron was concerned. How had Lucius managed to draw blood from a stone?

   He watched the man and his wife strut away in utter confusion. “How…?”

   “You don’t want to know,” Draco told him gently. He knew how Death Eaters had swapped spells during the war. Spells that slowed down time, spells that tortured, spells that burned every cell in the human body one by one… Severus and Marcus had actually come up with most of them.

   When the room was finally clean and the chairs put back in their proper place, Harry stepped back out. “Well,” he said, paper in-hand and sanity far-gone. Harry hadn’t been able to save Theo from being hurt, and he hadn’t even been able to get information from his father. Lucius had done it. He’d really, really done it from the look of the bruises that would blossom all over the broken man on the floor. “We’ve got one last place to dig.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Remus and Sirius had three hours of sulking to kill.

   “I hate him,” Remus muttered as he collapsed onto their couch, not even needing to specify who the ‘him’ in the situation was. Harry would tell them of Lucius’ coerced interview the next day, and how they had found the last missing piece of Benjy. Finally.

   Sirius immediately began unbuttoning all those pesky clothes Remus had on until his scarred chest showed as he sat across from him on the couch. “Moony,” he whimpered as he buried his face in Remus’ chest for comfort. “I hate everyone but you.”

   “No, I’m pretty sure you hate me too.”

   “Never.” Sirius kissed his collarbone before entwining their bodies entirely. Their muddy shoes were on and they were a veritable wreck, but they stayed still. “Never.”

   A little sigh escaped Remus. He had no idea what he’d do without his Padfoot, and no idea how he’d survived for twelve years without him. “I love you too.”

   “We need to get this off of our minds. Benjy wouldn’t want it to kill us,” he murmured against one of Remus’ scars.

   “Are you actually suggesting that we shag right now? Because if so, you have to be the horniest—“

   “Not shag,” Sirius told Remus with his bark of a laugh. “Just follow through on a little something we said we’d do again.” Sirius shoved a hand down into his pocket before it closed around what he had been hiding at the prison all along. Prisons didn’t scare Sirius anymore.

   When Sirius brought the rolled-up blunt of Gillyweed to Remus’ eyelevel, the lycanthrope could have cried. “It’s beautiful. I forgot how beautiful these are. Where did you even get this?”

   “Let’s just say our favorite Nott knows some people who know some people.” Theo and Sirius were strikingly similar in their way of dealing with sadness: drugs and sex. Sirius snuck a kiss in on Remus’ cheek, because this would undoubtedly lead to shagging. “Now, would you like to do the honors?” he asked cordially.

   He certainly didn’t have to ask Remus twice. Remus pressed the tip of his wand up to light a small, simmering flame to get the smoke to puff up around them.

   They passed it back and forth, taking in drag after drag. This was their home—formerly a home of strict pureblood tradition, which made it even better—and they would do as they pleased. Halfway in, it slipped their mind that they would be picking up Olivia in a few hours and were probably supposed to be sober for that.

   Once they’d put the illegal substance away, shagged twice, and were as high as a pair of stupid, poofy kites, their muggle house phone would ring. Remus would run to it and panic that they’d somehow been late to pick up Olivia, but it wasn’t Alex’s parents. Sirius, in a paranoid burst of giggles, thought it was the Ministry coming to lock them up.

   Who it really was happened to be Hermione Weasley, and it was coming from St. Mungo’s.


	26. Complacency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! :D Thanks again for your fabulous reviews, etc, etc.

**Chapter 26: Complacency**

   A rushed call to Alex’s foster parents would have to do as Remus and Sirius’ excuse for dashing out without their Olivia.

   “Floo,” Sirius said after he put the phone upside-down on its receiver in the kitchen. “We, uhm. The floo because we can’t apparate like this. Remember James’ birthday party?”

   Remus burst into laughter at the memory, still stuck on trying to tie his shoes on the couch they’d previously shagged on. The loops were too loopy. How do you fit the loop in the other loop? “Lupin,” he said to himself. “Lup-in, Lup-out. I should know this.”

   The gillyweed, as expected, had done its sworn duty. Remus was giggling over some word play with his last name while Sirius had rapidly become enthralled with looking at the floo powder close up in his hand. Was each little grain a circle or a square?

   “I’ve done it!” Finally, Remus had tied his shoes. The knots were childishly large and loose, but he’d done it. “I’m a genius. I should go to muggle university.”

   “I’m so proud of you, baby. I love you so much, do you know that? I love you like I love baths. Merlin, I love baths. Who was the first person to not jump in a lake to bathe, but instead filled up a warm tub? I’d like to give that person a medal. The Bath Medal.”

   Remus chuckled and stood slowly. Everything was in slow motion as it had been when they were in school together and had escapades under the influence that turned into all four Marauders laying on the floor talking about the probability of farting a star into existence (it was just a ball of gas, right?) and Sirius trying and failing to be subtle with the way he was touching Remus.

   “Okay, come on,” Remus finally said when he made his way over to Sirius in front of their fireplace, holding himself steady on Sirius’ shoulders. “We need to... We need to not be stupid right now.” That only made him laugh harder, though. “Okay? Not stupid.”

   “Sure, Mr. Uni-verrrr-sitty,” Sirius cooed. Remus was so cute when he tried to focus after smoking gillyweed. He got those tiny little lines on his forehead, the ones that made Sirius want to kiss him. However, if they started kissing again, they’d probably never leave the house.

   “No, I’m being serious!”

   Sirius’ eyes went wide with wonder. “But I’m Sirius. Have you just been a figment of my imagination all along, Moony?”

   “Yes, most likely. Now let’s go.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   When Hermione owled her husband, her best friend, and her old professors she held in such high respect, she was expecting a small gathering of friends to support her in a medical mishap that had shaken her.

   The only one who actually wound up being there on time was Draco, and that was mostly because it was his job.

   “Where are our husbands?” Hermione inquired when Ron hadn’t even owled her back. She was propped up on her St. Mungo’s bed with nothing to do but stare at the wall and worry, which made time pass like molasses.

   Draco looked up from Hermione’s charts. “They’re on Auror business. I assure you, premature contractions do not always equal premature labor. Ron will probably have missed nothing.”

   “What do you mean, ‘Auror business’? Don’t tell me they’re still in the interview room with that heathen. Theo and Colin are out to dinner together, Ron and Harry shouldn’t beat a dead horse.”

   “You see, it’s funny that you would use that wording—“

   “Oi, Malfoy,” Maggie said from the door frame, her Mediwitch scrubs finally having undergone a good wash after the flobberworm boils incident of the previous week. “Hermione’s got visitors.”

   Draco let out a sigh of relief, believing them to be Harry and Ron. “Yes, let them in.”

   Remus, arms full of a furry black dog, took the place where Maggie had been standing. For a brief second, he looked like some sort of saint on one of those cards that they gave out at those buildings with the crosses and the men in dresses.

   A dreary, distant look in his eyes and small children clambering around his heels took up most of the scene. The kids were admittedly trying to pet the doggy (who had sprinted through the children’s ward in a wild chase of what he thought was a squeaky toy and turned out to be a bald child’s comforting plushie) who they had immediately fallen in love with at the sight of.

   The nurses, Medi-witches, and Healers had taken their dinner break (even the workers that technically had a dinner break an hour ago), leaving the children momentarily unsupervised.

   “Puppy! Puppy!”

   “Mister, what’s the dog’s name?”

   “Can we keep him?”

   Remus lowered his panting and slobbering husband to the floor so the crowd could be sated.

   “Hermione,” he greeted her, trying his hardest to seem normal. Unfortunately, when Remus tried to be normal, it looked like the most abnormal thing on earth. “We got your letter.”

   From behind Remus, Padfoot barked happily at the small children pawing to touch him. When he licked one little girl’s face, they all shrieked with delight.

   Draco had been friends with Theo long enough to know what bloodshot eyes and ditzy behavior meant, and he honestly couldn’t believe he was seeing it in Remus. “Wow, Lupin. You’re connecting back to your hippie roots?”

   “Roots?” Maybe he was a tree. Maybe he’d been the Whomping Willow this whole time.

   “Yes,” Draco laughed fondly. “Roots.”

   Hermione, on the other hand, had no idea what the hell had come over her beloved professor. “Remus, what’s wrong?”

   Before Remus could give his typical ‘allergies’ excuse that had served him so well in Hogwarts, a furious Healer tapped his shoulder. The tap could even be categorized as a jab since the flustered old doctor seemed so angry.

   “Sir, there are absolutely no pets allowed in this facility. I’m going to have to remove—“

   “Pets?” Remus asked with a tiny laugh that bubbled over on the side of insanity. “No, no, he’s not my pet. I’m married to him. Right, Padfoot?”

   The Grim looked up lovingly at Remus before barking in agreement.

   “Uhm, sir…”

   “Alright, kids, listen to your Healer,” Remus sighed and ruffled the hair of those ones who had hair. He turned to the old man as if they were sharing a secret. “I’m a teacher, don’t worry. I understand kids. My husband and I are also in the process of adopting, aren’t we love?”

   Sirius barked again before rolling over so his stomach was facing up.

   “No. No belly-rubs in public.”

   The grizzled old Healer couldn’t smell the weed on Remus after the cleaning charm he’d cast, but he could sure see it in his eyes. “Have you ingested any illicit substances, sir? If so, I am obligated to—“

   “Healer Lark? Oh, that won’t be necessary. Those are my aunts,” Draco informed him fondly. When Lark saw that the crazy poof Malfoy was behind whatever the hell was going on. “Just take the kids back to the ward.”

   “But the _dog_ —“

   “He’s not a dog, he’s a batty old queen. Come on, Sirius. Shift back.”

   Sirius stood on his two feet once more, clothes still clinging to him loosely. He was complicit and malleable when high, so he followed Draco’s order before slinking over to the chair next to Hermione’s bed. “You’re no fun, niece. I was going to play fetch with the kids.”

   The jaws of all the children had been glued to the floor for the past moment. “Woah,” one whispered, shocked. “That… Is… So cool!”

   The disgruntled elder Healer had a hard time dragging them all back after that, and in the night, they’d make schemes to try and become dogs themselves.

   “Draco,” Hermione hissed, fist clenched nervously around a handful of her blankets. “What is going on?”

   “You owled them, right?”

   “Yes, but I think something’s… Wrong with them.”

   Sirius turned to Hermione kindly and twiddled his thumbs as if that would somehow assure the expectant mother that he was still himself. “I was raised by Pureblood parents, Hermione. Everything is wrong with me.”

   It was all far too merry an atmosphere for the announcement that Hermione had gone into premature contractions after her whole family had watched one of their own be needlessly tortured by a Death Eater, so she kept quiet for a moment.

   Maybe it really was just as Draco had said, that she wasn’t going into premature labor but just reacting to something. It made her feel silly and small for even bringing it to a Healer’s attention. “Right,” she muttered with a tiny smile at Sirius’ joke.

   Draco wasn’t as attuned to Hermione as he was to Harry, Theo, Pansy, Blaise… Or, well, anyone else. The woman was an enigma, and when she shrunk back into herself in the bed for a moment to think, he thought it was purely out of confusion over the obviously uninhibited couple in front of them.

   “Malfoy,” Maggie’s voice piped up again. “More visitors.”

   An upset patient and unruly guests had already begun to fray at Draco’s nerves. “If I’m not married to one of them I have no interest in letting them in. Remus! Stop playing with the stethoscope.”

   “But—“

   “No touching medical equipment,” Draco warned them. “No loud noises, no fetch with children.”

   “One of them is indeed your husband!” Maggie shouted back, leaving Ron to rush into the room to his wife’s aid. Hermione had obviously been doing fine on her own and always would be fine on her own, but Ron made that nagging feeling of doubt that told her that her fears were petty go away.

   “Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Did you slip? Did someone break into the house? Was anything stolen?”

   Ron’s concern made Hermione smile, her hand gently reaching out to stroke his cheek. She explained what happened in hushed tones, keeping things between husband and wife.

   Rose was at the sitter’s for the afternoon so Hermione could have an afternoon to herself without any fits or fusses, heels kicked up on their coffee table in the living room. Maybe it was the way she had been sitting or the strawberry ice cream she had been snacking on, but suddenly it felt like her baby was making an early arrival right there on the sofa.

   “What could cause something like this?” Ron asked Draco once he was assured nothing dire was afoot. Ever since Hermione’s first pregnancy, Ron had made it his personal mission to not be one of those husbands who blundered through the process blindly as if the uterus was a grand mystery that took years of training to fully understand.

   Harry gave his Auror partner a look that roughly translated to ‘I need a second alone with Draco’.

   Ron, having stolen Sirius’ chair, gave Harry a look that roughly translated to ‘fuck you’.

   “Stress, sexual activity, certain foods, any kind of infection she might have, excessive amniotic fluid…” Draco listed off of the top of his head. “It’s most likely just an anomaly. My tests didn’t show any existing diseases or structural issues.”

   Ron breathed a sigh of relief, only then allowing Harry to drag Draco out of the room.

   “Hey,” Harry said gently, vaguely unnerved by the white walls, robes, and sheets surrounding him as they walked down the corridor with no actual destination in mind. “Can we talk?”

   “In my office.”

   Harry nodded, lacing their fingers together so Draco could lead the way. There was too much on Harry’s mind to reveal in the company of those who lived outside the sphere of Draco and Harry. They were their own planet sometimes.

   Once Draco closed the door behind Harry after entering his luxurious office—which he had decorated entirely on his own, by the way—he went back to that planet with Harry.

   “Did you know,” Draco stated. “That I am really sick of that fact that the only conversations we’ve been having lately are heavy, horrible ones like the war is suddenly back upon us? So, if you could just tell me if you found the damned thing or not—“

   “We found it,” Harry assured him. Under the ash and rubble of the Gaunt house, they’d found it.

   “Okay, good. Could you also just skip the part where you tell me Theo will be just fine? Hermione and her baby aren’t even in trouble and they exhaust me. I don’t—I can’t talk about this anymore, okay? It’s exhausting. That suspicious and definitely illegal thing my parents did? That’s exhausting.”

   Harry shrugged. “I mean, it worked.”

   “You devil,” Draco accused, giving him a playful shove. “I knew I could corrupt that saintly moral code of yours.”

   “My morals are the same, and in case you haven’t noticed, nothing you push me through can change that.” Harry briefly thought of the way he’d fought against Draco’s eagerness to give in to the wishes of his parents concerning the blood purity of their child. “I have never been opposed, not once in my life, to breaking some rules.”

   Draco loved that about him. “The rules that you are supposed to uphold are the Sacred and Untouchable Law,” he teased anyway.

   “Sometimes, laws are bullshit.”

   “I’ll tell The Prophet you said that.”

   “I’ll tell The Prophet your best friend got my godparents high.”

   A smile spread on Draco’s lips. “You give as good as you get, you know that?” he asked.

   “I do,” Harry admitted as he sat down on the couch to the side of Draco’s office. “So what do you want to talk about? Considering we are skipping many parts of this conversation.”

   Harry was always willing to fit whatever shape Draco was in, even if it was as pointy as his face. Harry would never get enough of that pointy face.

   “I would like to talk about something entirely shallow,” Draco decided as he took his rightful place beside Harry on the couch.

   “Hmm. Shallow. I can do that.” Harry stretched his right arm around Draco’s shoulders out of instinct. “I could talk about how beautiful you are.”

   “Go on.”

   “I could talk about how I would love to see you in a nurse’s uniform. These long robes hardly fulfill anybody’s Healer fantasies,” he smirked.

   Draco kicked his legs up over Harry’s lap. “Yeah, because I save my hottest outfits for at home with you.” Having Grace live with them put their house-wide escapades on pause. “The second we’re finally alone and our baby is sound asleep, I’ll dress up for you.”

   “Our baby,” Harry echoed, feeling that little burst of joy he got when he talked about their daughter. “Our little girl.”

   “Our…” Draco scoured his mind for the names he’d listed. “Amelia.”

   “Really?”

   “Then we could call her ‘Amy’ for short. Amelia and-slash-or Amy Malfoy-Potter. Oh, Merlin. Quit looking at me like that. I know you’re still gunning for a dead person’s name.”

   “I’m not _gunning_ , per se…” Harry murmured. “Just think about it.”

   Draco sighed and leaned up against Harry’s frame. This wasn’t as meaningless as he’d been going for, but at least they’d gotten on a topic that didn’t remind Draco of how totally fucked-up the last twenty-four hours had been. “Oh, I’m thinking.”

   Harry cleared his throat. “Lily Malfoy-Potter,” he tried, making the name sound as appealing as he could.

   “Something about it doesn’t really flow, is all.”

   “Then think of a middle name,” Harry offered. “Lily Amelia Malfoy-Potter.”

   At least that wasn’t a dead person’s name. “Hm. That sounds admittedly better.”

   Harry leaned in close to kiss his neck. “So you’re not entirely opposed to the idea of naming her after my mother?” he asked, nudging his nose against Draco’s pale skin.

   “I could get used to it,” Draco admitted. “At least you’re not trying for Narcissa Malfoy-Potter.”

   “Hm.”

   “Oh, Salazar, do not tell me you somehow like that better,” the Slytherin said in abject horror.

   Harry shook his head, assuring Draco with another kiss that he wouldn’t alternate between calling his mother-in-law and his child ‘Cissy’. “It sounds pretty, is all. Though a middle name would probably mess it up.”

   “Maybe that could be her middle name,” Draco joked.

   “Wait—Think about it. Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter,” Harry insisted, sitting on the edge of Draco’s couch.

   Oh, Draco really hated to admit it, but that sounded harmonious. He was almost sure if he said it out loud himself that he would adore it. “Well.”

   “Do you like it?”

   “ _Well_.”

   “You definitely like it,” Harry grinned, moving his other arm around Draco. “You love it.”

   Draco tried to hide his smile. “Kind of. I mean, let’s not jump to any conclusions,” he warned.

   “Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter. That’s going to sound fantastic when the hat sorts her into Gryffindor,” Harry mused.

   Draco cocked an eyebrow, shifting in Harry’s arms so he could get a proper and full view of the ‘bitch please’ face he was making. “Our little Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter is not going to be some blindly courageous heroine. She will be clever, manipulative, and a true leader.”

   “You _want_ our daughter to be manipulative?”

   “Of course!” Draco proclaimed. “It’s going to get her far in life. Even if she’s not attracted to men, they will be attracted to her because she will be gorgeous. She can use them and get to the top in no time, and then prove her superior skills. Teachers will give her high marks and she will be her own boss.”

   Harry looked at Draco like he was the most adorable thing in the world. “That’s a strange thing to wish for, darling.”

   “You’re strange, dearest.”

   “As are you, honeybee.”

   Draco was always ready for an ironic nickname-off. “Go fuck yourself, muffin-face.”

   “But I’d love to fuck you, butterfly,” Harry countered.

   That was a new one. “’Butterfly’?”

   “Yeah,” he grinned at Draco. “You were a snotty kid, then you entered a cocoon and burst out of it a compassionate and caring individual. Some might even say ‘charming’.”

   “That’s a beautiful story, Harry, but I believe you mentioned something earlier about fucking me…?”

   “Ah, yes. I most certainly did.”

   Before Harry could make the first move, Draco beat him to it.

   He rubbed the span between Harry’s legs through his black Auror robes. In Draco’s white Healer robes, they made the perfect contrast between light and dark. Draco closed the gap between them with a kiss that made Harry’s stomach drop to his feet.

   After that, Harry was putty in Draco’s hands. Draco busied himself with unbuttoning every last facet of that bothersome uniform Harry had on before lifting his undershirt off over his head. Harry’s glasses got snagged in the process, but Draco centered them again. “Want you to see this,” he told him throatily.

   All Harry could do was nod, breath taken away by the scene unfolding before him.

   Draco swirled his hips on top of Harry’s in a grinding motion that made the words ‘lap dance’ come to mind. “I’m going to ride you,” Draco told him as he shrugged off his own robes.

   Harry’s cock jumped at the thought. “ _Yes_ ,” he groaned. Harry couldn’t seem to undo his trousers fast enough, hands fumbling with the zippers and buttons.

   Draco laughed to himself before shooing Harry’s hands away and taking off the black pants himself. “I’m your Healer,” Draco reminded him, rubbing the bulge that was now only obscured by a pair of boxers. “I take care of everything.”

   A pitiful groan escaped Harry’s mouth. Draco had only been rutting against him, but he was already hard.

   “Mm, now that’s my good boy.” Draco got up on his knees for a moment to slip off his trousers, revealing a pair of lacy pink panties. “Like these? I thought about you when I put them on; got me so hard.”

   “ _Love_ those.”

   Draco lowered them in the back so his arse was showing, but kept the tight fabric around his cock. He did the opposite for Harry, pulling his now fully erect prick out of his boxers so he could wrap his fingers around him and stroke.

   An appreciative hum sounded in Harry’s mouth. But as soon as the sensation was there, it was gone again. “Draco!”

   “Yes?” he asked innocently.

   Harry tipped his head back and let out a frustrated groan.

   “Hey.” Draco tilted his head back up, fixing his glasses once more. “Look at me.” Draco kept Harry’s eyes looking right at how his fat cock poked out from behind the panty line by hooking two fingers in his mouth. “Now suck on them.”

   “Mm.” Harry’s tongue lapped at Draco’s fingers, head bobbing up and down on them like he was sucking his cock. He knew where those fingers were going and the thought alone drove him mad.

   Draco gently eased the fingers from Harry’s mouth, leaving a trail of saliva he used his own lips to kiss away.

   His fingers moved down a familiar path, still lubricated when they came to prod at Draco’s own hole. They went in as Draco let out a loud, erotic moan that could definitely be heard from outside his office. “They’re not enough,” Draco said almost immediately as his free hand used his wand to summon lubricant that he spread over Harry’s aching cock. His fingers thrust in and out of his arsehole, getting himself ready. “I need your big cock in me.” He let every word drop from his lips like he was a bloody pornstar. Harry couldn’t believe what a lucky man he was.

   “Fuck, Draco,” Harry panted out, his own hands flying to help Draco position his hips.

   “Yes,” Draco urged as he nudged Harry’s foreskin up against his hole before pushing it inside of him. “Ah— _Yes_.”

   Draco rolled his arse down, making slow, lazy circles as he took Harry deeper inside him.

   The sight nearly did Harry in. Draco’s lithe, fair body sliding Harry’s member in and out of himself like Harry was a mere fucktoy Draco was using to get himself off with. It made him feel dirty and used.

   Harry whimpered and bucked his hips up. If he didn’t get enough friction, Harry thought for sure he would lose his mind. “Draco, please…” His hand reached out to stroke Draco’s cock through the lace fabric in order to gain his favor.

   Thankfully, it worked. Draco slid down on him harder, practically bouncing up and down on his cock at a quickening pace. “Harry,” he groaned. The slap of their skin echoed in the office space.

   “Faster,” Harry said in what had to be a tiny sob. “Please!”

    Draco’s hand planted themselves on Harry’s chest, giving him leeway to push his taut hole up Harry’s length even faster. His arse cheeks jolted up and down in an uneven pattern with his thrusts, his arse smacking down on Harry’s legs whenever he pulled up on his cock.

   “I want your come in me,” Draco demanded as he thumped up and down on Harry’s weeping cock.

   Harry was never one to refuse a request so appetizing. He used his own strength to slam into Draco a few more times before the orgasm took him by surprise. Harry let out a shout, watching his own come dribble down out of Draco’s hole as Draco continued to ride him.

   Still stroking at him furiously, Harry made Draco come only seconds later. The white mess got all over his lace panties and Harry’s chest.

   Before Draco could pull out, pull Harry to his chest, and litter his face with kisses, a rather inopportune knock pounded at his office door.

   Draco—with a sated Harry’s limp cock still inside of him—let out an annoyed sigh. “What is it?”

   “Hermione!” the panicked voice that could only be Ron Weasley called out from the other side of the door as he attempted to open it. Thankfully, Draco had had the sense to lock it. “I think it’s happening, Draco! She’s having contractions again, and fuck—I think her water just broke!”

   Harry and Draco’s eyes met, Draco’s full of horror and Harry’s full of excitement.

   “We’ll be out in a minute!” Harry announced, giving Draco’s cheek a kiss before maneuvering off the couch and pulling his robes on. “Don’t worry, Ron. We’re gonna deliver this baby!”


	27. Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having an artistic crisis because I haven't had an acting job in so long. This chapter may reflect that and I take no responsibility for this chapter whatsoever. Also, I finished my summer LA work so I can do this guiltlessly now. Agh. July was a weird month and Remus Lupin’s Pottermore bio is the worst fanfiction I’ve ever read.

**Chapter 27: Timing**

   Harry prided himself on being a gay man who didn't faint at the mention of anything feminine. Just because he was married to a man didn't mean he would forget everything to do with a cisgender woman's biology.

   With that in mind and with clothes on his back once more, Harry entered Hermione's delivery room with a renewed vigor. "Hermione!" he greeted eagerly as he swung the door open.

   " _What_?" Hermione demanded, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was grasping the sides of the hospital bed. "Harry, make yourself useful and owl Arthur and Molly. Ron, get the fuck over here. Draco–!"

   Hermione was cut off by one of her own contractions. She gritted her teeth and let the noise of pain seep out around her clenched jaw.

   When it stopped, she looked to Draco with wild eyes. " _Get this thing out of me before I hex your Healer bullocks to shreds._ ”

   If Harry were entirely socially unaware of the maddening effect pain had on people, he would have piped up and told Hermione that he liked Draco’s bullocks where they were and in one piece, thank you very much. Harry was, however, intelligent. He kept his mouth shut and did as he was told.

   Harry was on cloud nine.

   Hermione was having a baby! The perfect mix of his two best friend’s genes! It was the baby who would grow up alongside his own.

   Harry’s summoned quill shook his hands when he scribbled those letters. This was the child he’d be babysitting with Draco for the rest of their lives. They’d watch this kid have its own kid. The circle of life was unfolding before him and it wasn’t even a Disney movie.

   And Hermione was a soldier about it.

   Harry could hear her giving out more orders from down the hall and admired her for it. Women were the superior sex and he knew it. People who used ‘pussy’ as an insult clearly had not once attempted to birth a child through a cock and Harry happened to look down on them for ever considering women weak.

   Lily Potter brought him into the world and Narcissa Malfoy brought his husband into the world. Draco and Harry—while appreciating the irony—owed everything to women. James would have probably flown in to a fit of anxiety if he was the one that got pregnant, and Lucius would have probably just perished. Didn’t matter how. The man would have perished.

   Ron would probably be the best with a child in him, but Harry was really getting disturbed by his own male-pregnancy thoughts. “Never,” he shuddered just to make sure he was on the same page with his subconscious.

   “Oh, Salazar,” Pansy muttered. She’d stumbled upon Harry in the hallway talking to himself and immediately knew things couldn’t be normal. “What’s going on?”

   “Hermione’s gone into labor.”

   Pansy grimaced. She wasn’t the biggest fan of the former Granger, but birth was one thing she would only wish on her worst enemy. The stretching, the tearing… “Gross.”

   “You’re a medi-witch,” Harry laughed. “Isn’t this supposed to be your forte?”

   “No, it’s not birth that skeeves me out. It’s the thought of Hermione specifically doing it. This is worse than the time I walked in on her showering in the Prefect’s bathroom,” Pansy muttered. Okay, at the time, it had been sort of hot, but now Hermione was a mother, married, and the hate sex would be much less passionate since their rivalry had cooled down.

   “Ah.”

   “I think I’m just going to try and get your godfathers sober.”

   Harry cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

   “Have you seen them?” Pansy asked, her eyes narrowing yet keeping her playful air about her. She could honestly care less what mayhem the two men caused, she was just surprised Harry hadn’t noticed how baked they were.

   “Uhm, yes? For like three seconds?”

   Pansy reached into her scrubs for her wand. Harry would try and erase the mental image of her storing it in her bra, but it might never go away. “Watch.” Pansy summoned a silver whistle and held it up to her glossed lips before blowing.

   “I can’t hear it,” Harry frowned.

   What the Auror could hear, however, was the scritch-scratch of nails on the floor coming frenzied towards him.

   Sirius plopped down at Pansy’s feet, his husband having opted to walk after The Grim. Sirius noticed Harry and began excitedly jumping on him until Harry crouched down to rub behind his ears. “Hey there, Padfoot.”

   “We’re terrible examples,” Remus lamented as he walked towards them. “Look at Draco. Look at the Malfoy boy. He’s in the other room facing genitalia of the opposite sex so he can deliver a baby and we’re high and leaving our kid-thing at someone else’s house.”

   Pansy shrugged. “Hey, she’s probably happy to be at her boyfriend’s.”

   Sirius changed back mid-lick on Harry’s face. “Boyfriend?” Sirius demanded. “But she just got boobs!”

   “They’re not dating,” Remus said slowly, trying to make sure it was true.

   “Not yet,” Pansy shrugged. “But I’m sure she loves herself some Gryffindors. When did you two start dating?”

   “Fifth year,” they said at once. Sirius actually at first tried to say ‘fourth year’, but found it easy to change the number mid-speech. He really had terrible memory. Mem-o-reed. Mammaries.

   While Sirius was lost in thought over breasts—a truly rare sight—Remus tried to fake understanding of the situation. “But, ah, she’s in second year. How does that…? Are they really?”

   Harry grinned, now seeing what Pansy was talking about. “I can’t believe you two,” he laughed. “I’m going to have to arrest you.”

   “And I’m going to have to threaten a twelve year-old boy,” Sirius nodded solemnly.

   “What?”

   “I’m not going to be my mother and forbid them from seeing one another. He’s an alright kid, they have adult supervision, and he’s tiny enough for me to hit.”

   “Scare the shit out of him,” Remus told his Padfoot, who was still sitting on the floor.

   Sirius looked up at him lovingly. “I will. I once shanked a man in prison for bragging about breaking some girl’s heart.”

   “The worst part about that,” Remus said more to himself than to anyone else. “Is that I really don’t know if you’re kidding or not.”

   From down the hall, Hermione let out another frustrated cry.

   “We should probably get back to a more pressing matter,” Harry murmured in reference to The Brightest Witch of Their Age. The time between contractions was decreasing by the minute and Hermione’s nails had already dug deep into Ron’s hand from the squeezing.

   The group of queer lost souls and bizarrely-enough family members made their way down to the room so they could be there for a girl who was not only essential in winning a war against malevolent forces, but had always been there for them.

   Harry’s previous pride on not being a gay man who was disturbed by the inner machinations of the cisgender female was dashed, however.

   He walked into the room to see Draco positioned at the end of the bed, positioned right in front of—Oh, Merlin. Oh fuck. How—? _Why_? Was that what crowning was?

   Harry, eyes rolling back behind his glasses, fainted at the sight.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   That damned ring had never felt so heavy in Theo’s pocket before. It threatened to burn a hole right through him and attempt an escape.

   Theo liked to imagine it growing legs, putting on a little top hat, and dashing off to hide where all unused engagement rings go. He also liked to think that there was an underground society of them, walking around until their owners eventually plucked up the courage to pop the question to their significant other.

   That, of course, was fucking mad.

   Theo actually felt himself go mad across from Colin, his knee involuntarily bouncing up and down under the table cloth. He hadn’t even touched his lobster dinner.

   “Theo?” Colin asked for the third time, this time reaching out to hold his hand across the table.

   “Hm?”

   “Where are you right now?”

   “Underground secret society,” he answered without thinking. Luckily, Colin didn’t ask for elaboration. “Sorry.”

   Colin shook his head. “Hey, it’s fine. You’ve had a rough day. Look, do you even want to be here right now? We could go home, we could throw rocks at a tree, I could help you with potions.”

   Why the hell did Colin have to be so sweet? It was really making Theo’s angst over marriage and his parental situation feel less relevant, and he wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that. “No, I’m fine here.”

   “Then can I distract you from this terrible day with some news that will make you laugh at me?”

   “Yes, you can definitely do that.”

   Colin dug into his pocket. “Well, you know how I didn’t really want my father to date Helen? You know how I perished at the idea of them being intimate? Well.” He put the invitation in front of Theo’s plate. “Guess whose wedding announcement this is.”

   “No fucking way.”

   “Yes fucking way.” Colin had picked up all that cursing from his boyfriend and couldn’t seem to make it stop. “They’re getting married! My father! To someone who is not my mother!”

   Theo tried to think of a way to put his thoughts into word that sounded gentle. “Yes, Colin. Otherwise it’d be necrophilia.”

   Colin kicked him under the table.

   “What? It’s true! The man is happy with someone and doing much, much better than certain other people’s fathers.”

   “That’s hardly fair,” Colin pointed out.

   Theo knew that, but a day with his estranged father had scrambled his brain. “Still.”

   “But it doesn’t matter, I guess. My father wins. You win. Everyone wins. He’s getting married,” Colin muttered in a child-like pout.

   “You win, too.”

   “How do I win?”

   “Do you really want to know?” Theo asked. “This involves the underground secret society.”

   “Have I inherited the sewer throne?” Colin laughed. What was this nutter up to?

   Theo nodded. “You have. The whole kingdom is yours. You’re the king of your domain with legions upon legions of subjects who adore you. All you have to do is take one family heirloom of the sewer people and you may ascend to the throne.”

   This was getting elaborate for Theo’s sarcasm and joking. Colin raised an eyebrow at all the rambling, but figured it was better than Theo sulking in silence. “What heirloom is that?”

   It was maybe the dumbest lead-up to a proposal that Theo had ever imagined.

   Sewer-people? Really? Were they going to look their children in the eye and say ‘and then Daddy went on a nervous, slightly tipsy, and post-emotional disturbance rant about a secret society similar to the illuminati in hierarchy before pulling out a ring’, and then tell their kids that that’s the shit true love was made of?

   Apparently, they’d have to.

   Theo stood from his chair and could feel his knees shake when he dropped to the ground next to Colin’s chair. “I have something to ask you.” His teeth felt like they were going to fall out of his mouth.

   At first, Colin was delightfully oblivious. “What?”

   Patrons around the restaurant turned and stared at the bizarre scene unfolding.

   “I love you.”

   “I know that, Theo,” Colin laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Come on, get up off of the floor.”

   By then, the restaurant had practically frozen in awe of the two celebrities making a rather pathetic attempt at becoming engaged.

   “No, there’s a reason I’m on the floor.”

   “And why in the hell is that?” He loved those khakis.

   “Just let me finish,” Theo sighed, his nerves still there but dulled significantly by Colin’s naivety. “I think you’ll want to hear this.”

   Colin sighed and put down his fork. “Sure. Go ahead.”

   “Excuse me, sirs,” the waiter who had been busy in the kitchen for the past fifteen minutes said as he approached their table. “May I help you?”

   “What? No, I’m in the middle of something.” This was a disaster and Theo didn’t even care, he was going to finish the job.

   “Some dessert, maybe?”

   “No, I’m—“

   “Refill for your wine glasses?”

   “Can you stop?” Theo shouted, his shakes having turned into a ball of raw energy that could be directed into any emotion, including anger. “I am trying to fucking propose.”

   Flabbergasted and embarrassed at his own ignorance, the waiter retreated.

   “You’re…?” Colin realized, recognition lighting his eyes. “You don’t have to, please don’t think you have to. It’s been a long day and I don’t want you to do this just because my father—“

   “Colin, it’s not because of that. I… I bought this damn thing two months ago and I have been a coward about just saying it.”

   “Two months ago?” The romanticism of it all made Colin’s Gryffindor heart melt.

   “Can I just finish proposing?”

   Colin nodded and sat up straight. People around them were taking photos that would sell to The Prophet for thousands, after all, and Colin knew what made a good photo. “Yes. You may finish proposing.”

   “Thank you, dear.”

   Theo pulled out the golden ring for the full effect. Colin audibly gasped, which was the best sound he had ever heard.

   “Colin Alexander Creevey. Famed photographer. Cat-lover. My sunshine,” Theo announced loudly, with a smile right on his face. Maybe if everything went horribly with his father, they could dress Colin up in drag and pretend he had a wife before Colin ripped off the disguise and the couple cackled maniacally.

   “I love you. You’re the joy to my gloom, and the sun to my moon. I didn’t expect to fall for someone as sweet, kind, and caring as you are. You make me feel invincible, like I really could spend the rest of my life with you. I know it’s been a year, but I think we’ve never gotten our timing right on anything—hell, I waited for a Right Moment for two months and it never came. It may never come, actually.”

   “Yeah,” Colin agreed with a bright smile before teasing Theo. “This moment certainly isn’t it.”

   Theo gave his knee a push. “Yeah, well shut up. Make me the happiest man in the whole world?”

   “Eh. Ask again.”

   “Will you marry me?”

   Colin’s next smile was all teeth before he crushed their lips together. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

   Their wizarding audience burst into applause, the flash of camera lights filled the air, and Marcus Nott coughed up a little bit of blood in the prison infirmary before waking up with cramped but distinct sense of dread.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Harry, on the other hand, awoke to his husband shaking his head at him.

   “And I thought you lions were supposed to be courageous,” Draco said. He’d moved Harry to the couch outside the delivery room and forced Pansy to take over once the baby started crying. The ‘Princess’ would have to deal with a screeching, bloody infant when there was a problem with Draco’s husband.

   Harry groaned. “I am,” he argued weakly.

   “You bumped your head,” Draco told him without even bothering to refute that ridiculous statement.

   “Is Hermione…?”

   “She, Ron, and Hugo are just fine.”

   “Good,” he breathed. “Good, that’s a relief. I just… Oh, Merlin, I didn’t know that—“

   Draco snickered. “Need me to Obliviate you?”

   “There was so much blood,” Harry responded, eyes wide.

   “When was the last time you’ve even seen a vagina?” Draco laughed. “They are often bloody.” Having a vagina made someone a regular warrior.

   Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. “I mean, never? Never in person. Sometimes in porn.”

   “Ew. Are you viewing heterosexual shenanigans?”

   “Not on purpose. The ads just kind of pop up when I use the laptop.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “Muggle inventions,” he sighed dramatically. “But really? You’ve never seen a naked woman?”

   “You have?” Harry asked doubtfully. “This is not even an important conversation, you know. A baby has been born that we should probably get around to holding and telling the parents about how beautiful he is.”

   “You haven’t even seen Hugo. For all you know, he could be the ugliest git in London.”

   “All babies are beautiful,” Harry told him as he sat up, still dazed. “That’s a fact.”

   “You are so baby-crazy,” Draco sighed fondly before helping him stand. He gave Harry’s cheek a kiss as he walked him down to Hermione’s room. If they weren’t expecting a kid soon, Draco suspected Harry would be inclined to snatch little Hugo right up.

   That was mostly because, well, that baby was not the ugliest git in London. A little whisper of red hair topped his head off, and a chubby-soft face sealed the deal for Draco. Hugo Arthur Weasley was adorable.

   “Harry,” an exhausted Hermione greeted. “Harry, are you okay?”

   “Yeah,” Harry said bashfully as the room of Weasleys—everyone from his ex-girlfriend to his best friend—smiled at him as if Hermione had definitely told them the story of how she managed to stay awake during the greatest pain a person could experience and how passed out at the sight of it.

   Harry unglued himself from Draco when he saw the littlest Weasley though. Rosie was playing with Hugo on Hermione’s lap, the faithful father holding his son upright. “Oh, Hermione. Ron. He’s perfect.”

   “Isn’t he?” Molly cooed, clearly restraining herself from grabbing the little baby up and kissing him all over once again. “Oh, gosh. Look at him and his sister.” Tears sprung to her eyes and Arthur took her in for another hug so she could happy-cry on his shoulder.

   Draco could only imagine his mother seeing her grand-baby. Little Lily. “Hermione,” he said gently. “We’ll bring in Healer Baldwin to prep you for surgery soon. She just needs to finish up with another patient.”

   That was one thing that didn’t make Molly weep with joy. She’d had as many children as she could, why was Hermione stopping at two?

   However, Hermione only saw her as a little voice in her ear. “Thank you, Draco. You probably have to feed and water my husband, though.”

   Ron didn’t even look up from his babies to refute that. “Hey, Rose, why don’t you give your little brother a kiss? Yeah, right on the side of the head. That’s your little brother, sweetie.” Harry quickly joined Ron in speaking to the kids as if they could understand. “And this is your Uncle Harry.”

   “Hey there,” Harry greeted the hazel-eyed boy. “Yeah, I’m your Uncle Harry. Welcome to the world, buddy. Ron and I are going to teach you how to ride a broom.”

   Draco waited until the baby had stolen Harry’s glasses to gently remind everyone that most of them hadn’t eaten in hours.

   “We can take Hugo to the nursery so we can do some more measurements and make sure everything is fine,” Draco told them, handing Ron a Gryffindor red blanket to wrap his son in. “Molly can of course watch Rose for the surgery, and yes, I will feed the husbands.”

   Hermione, glowing with renewed motherly pride, never thought she would smile that hard at Draco. He’d gone from her tormentor to her confidant in a matter of years. Privately, Hermione couldn’t wait for Hugo and Lily play dates where she could sip champagne (oh, she missed fancy drinks) and gossip with Draco.

   “Good.” Hermione gave each of her children a kiss on the forehead before Ron outstretched the bundle of joy out to Draco, a man who had once been his enemy, too.

   “It won’t take long,” Draco assured him as he took seven pounds and three ounces of Weasley into his arms. It was almost scary how light Hugo was, like Draco could make one careless move and break the smiling little boy.

   Hermione and Ron embraced for the first time in the past few hours. Hermione was still wet with sweat and her hair resembled a bird’s next, and Ron was looking frazzled and had some placenta on his shirt, but they thought it divine.

   Draco wondered, as he walked the baby to the nursery and away from the family hug that the delivery room had devolved into, if he should introduce himself.

   “Good evening,” he greeted Hugo when he realized he was alone in the corridor. “Congratulations on breathing for the first time.”

   Draco looked down to see Hugo nodding off.

   “Am I boring you?” he teased. “I’m your Uncle Draco.” He couldn’t believe he was saying that out loud.

   Just a year ago the ‘U’ word wasn’t even in his vocabulary. After all, he referred to Remus and Sirius as Aunts just to avoid it.

   “I’m going to be the one that gets you your first fake ID, encourages you to experiment with men, and tells you stories about how I used to mess with your father in school. You and Lily are going to be Slytherins, I just know it.”

   Draco reached the nursery, putting Hugo down in between one baby wrapped in a pastel yellow blanket and another swaddled in white. St. Mungo’s never liked the whole ‘forcing gender roles through pink and blue’ thing.

   In his clear baby incubator Hugo looked even smaller.

   Draco paused to watch his new ‘nephew’ for a moment to see the rise and fall of Hugo’s tummy, wondering what it would be like to call one of those tiny creatures his own.


	28. Protect and Serve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, homeskillies.

**Chapter 28: Protect and Serve**

   “I remember my middle name again,” Remus told his husband in order to pile up the achievements they’d been listing of things they were better at doing while sober.

   “How could you ever forget your middle name? Your mum added it to everything, Remus _John_ Lupin.”

   Remus rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Sirius _Orion_ —“

   “Ugh.” A shudder ran through Sirius at the mention of his father. “Let’s continue with the list. I’m much better at eating things when I’m high. Never-ending munchies.”

   Remus put his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and leaned into him on the couch. “I don’t know how to break this to you, Padfoot, but you always have had a talent for stuffing your face with food.”

   “And cock.”

   “Of course.”

   “Sirius!” Olivia called from upstairs. “Remus? Hey, where are you guys?”

   “Down here!” Remus shouted back, really hoping she hadn’t heard Sirius’ innuendo. There was nothing more emotionally scarring to Remus—not even having his soulmate in prison for twelve years and the betrayal of one of his closest friends—than the time he had walked in on his parents in the kitchen.

   While memories of Lily and James sometimes faded, the exact image of his mother bent over the kitchen table was as clear as if it happened yesterday. Life wasn’t fair.

   Olivia ran down the stairs so fast she could have been gliding. Sirius had once tried to slide down the bannister to some unfortunate results, but she was young and lithe.

   “Hey,” she greeted chipperly when she finally caught sight of them.

   Sirius patted the couch seat next to him and Moony. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

   Her clothes were surprisingly stylish that day rather than the comfy sweatpants she preferred, and her hair had a bright blue clip in it. “Nothing,” she said as casually as she could before the actual news burst out. “Can I hang out with Alex today? We want to walk to the park and see the little concert they have there in an hour. I think it’s for some kind of charity or other. Definitely something with cancer.”

   “Well, we could never disappoint those cancer-something charities,” Sirius teased with a light heart. He didn’t even have to look at Remus’ face to know what the other man was thinking. Boy. Olivia. Concert. Alone.

   “So I can go?”

   Remus forced a nod. “Of course, sweetheart.”

   Her reaction was more exuberant than expected, which gave even more credence to Pansy’s theory that she definitely had a crush on Alex.

   She gave Remus and Sirius each a kiss on the cheek, smiling ear to ear when she was done. “I’m going to go paint my nails. Can you tell me when he gets to the door?”

   “You said ‘yes’ before asking us? Wow, we really are starting to rub off on you,” Sirius joked. “Sure thing, you can make your dramatic entrance once we call for you.”

   “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Olivia repeated before disappearing up the staircase as fast as she had appeared. She left two confused Marauders in her wake without even knowing it.

   Remus looked up to make sure she’d gone into her room. “He tries to kiss her and I’ll kill him.”

   “Aw, come on, Moony. I kissed you when we were twelve.”

   “And then you said it was just ‘practice for girls’ and avoided me for a week,” Remus huffed.

   Sirius chuckled to himself. “Yeah, I was a bit of a confused mess then,” he admitted before giving Remus a kiss that was most certainly not practice for any girl or any other man for that matter. “But hey. I think I turned out fine and I think you turned out fine. Don’t worry about it.”

   “Worrying is in my blood.”

   Lyall and Hope Lupin had left a trail of disinfectant and nervous glances wherever they’d gone. Even before Remus was bitten they triple-checked to make sure he had friends in elementary school that weren’t going to abuse him.

   His cuts were doused in rubbing alcohol and his colds were treated with loving cuddles and chicken noodle soup with twelve boxes tissues surrounding them.

   Their sense of fear for their little boy was only heightened after that night he’d gone out with a jar to catch some fireflies like he’d read about in a book. The full moon lit up the whole town for Remus not to trip or fall on some treacherous pebbles, but there was a man far more treacherous than any scraped knees in town that day. That night, Remus had gotten in his way.

   So, Remus in turn worried.

   He stressed over telling the Marauders his secret, he tore his hair out over coming-out to his parents, and bitten his nails to nubs when he realized he was in love with one of his best friends.

   “Our Olivia knows what she’s doing. If she doesn’t want to kiss him back, she won’t. If she does want to kiss him, then she probably will. The girl is resourceful and mature for her age.”

   Before Remus could bemoan that statement, there was a light knock on the door. “Scare the shit out of him,” Remus repeated like he had at the hospital.

   “Duh, Moony. Of course I’m going to. Just because I trust Olivia doesn’t mean I’m not going to harass every suitor she garners,” Sirius said as if it were obvious. Scaring tweens was more fun than he liked to admit.

   Sirius took it upon himself as the scarier one (scars were creepy, but tattoos were voluntary pain) to open the front door. “Alex,” he greeted sweetly. “Come in, she’ll be right down.”

   When Olivia heard the door open from her room she nearly spilt the nail polish on her soft carpeting. Merlin, she would have felt guilty about that. “Coming!” she shouted to assure Alex she was running a little late and not purposefully avoiding him.

   “Cool,” Alex called back up. He wasn’t sure why Professor Lupin’s husband was staring at him with such crazy eyes, though. He looked down at his feet.

   Sirius rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a blood rune in the middle of a target on his left forearm. “Do you know where I got this, Alex?”

   “Uh.”

   It was really in a bathroom stall during one of the few times they were allowed out of their cells in the cold, cramped darkness. The tattoo artist was a man who only spoke Russian and Sirius was feeling adventurous that day, handing his skin over to someone who could mark it permanently with a surprise picture. “I got this in the old Azkaban yard after I strangled a guard.”

   “ _Uh_.”

   “Do you know what it means?”

   Alex had once seen his foster-mom watching a documentary on what prison tattoos meant. “That you were unjustly imprisoned?”

   Remus and Sirius exchanged looks before laughing. At least the kid thought on his feet.

   “Sure. That, and the fact that nobody can mess with me, because I fight back. This here is the mark of a warrior, the kind you don’t want to mess with.” Sirius was so proud of his ability to make shit up as he went along.

   Before Alex could even swallow the lump that had formed in his stomach, Sirius spoke again.

   “So now you know not to mess with me, just like everyone in prison did. Do you understand what I’m saying, Alex? I’m saying that I may not have killed the Potters but that doesn’t mean my hands are clean of blood.”

   Remus watched in a sort of silent admiration. Sirius actually had killed people during the first war, but he was skating around the emotional trauma quite nicely. “Darling,” Remus chimed in.

   “Yes, dearest?”

   “Why don’t you tell him the story of what you did to that mob boss your first week there?” There was never any mob boss, but this was so much fun. Alex’s eyes had dilated behind his thick-rim glasses and he looked utterly terrified. Just what Remus wanted.

   Sirius’ eyes lit up with false recognition, ever-so glad that his Moony was playing a part in his sick game. “Oh, you’re going to love this. It’s a real crowd-pleaser; I tell this at parties all the time,” he lied. “So the power had gone out, and I’d fashioned a weapon out of nothing but toothbrushes and paper towel rolls—“

   Before Sirius could get around to describing how the ‘mob boss’ had ‘begged for his pathetic excuse of a life’, he heard Olivia scaling the stairs once more.

   “Olivia,” he cooed sweetly as he turned to give her a goodbye hug. “You two have fun, and don’t be out past ten.”

   She was blissfully unaware of what had just transpired. All she knew was that her nails were painted and the boy she liked was going out with her. “See you both later!”

   Olivia grabbed Alex’s wrist, which had gone ghost-pale like the rest of his body. Sirius had been hoping to make him cry a little, but he stopped just short of that. Alex was a nice kid, after all.

   Remus came to his husband’s side as they waved goodbye from the doorway. Alex would have to recover on the walk there.

   “That was beautiful, Padfoot,” Remus smirked before pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

   “Aren’t I the greatest?”

   “Yes, you are.”

   Sirius closed the door once Olivia and Alex walked out of sight and turned around in Remus’ arms to kiss him. “Want to know what my other tattoos mean?” he said with a sleazy grin, since none but the moon on his back and the wolf on his ankle meant anything at all.

   “Oh, educate me,” Remus laughed, smiling all the way as he dragged him back to bed.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Colin didn’t even notice when the bartender wrote his name and number on the napkin under Colin’s drink. He was a ray of bliss in the bar, knee bouncing impatiently while he waited for his friend to arrive.

   His boyfriend—oh, wait, _fiancée_ —had chosen to show up at Draco’s workplace in the early morning hours to wake his best friend up with the news, but Colin had chosen to be a bit more celebratory and less bothersome.

   Theo would never give up the opportunity to annoy Draco.

   That left Colin with the other half of the power-couple with a penchant for attracting news crews to their front lawn. “Harry!” he called from the other side of the bar when the Auror walked in, waving him excitedly over.

   Harry didn’t usually take his break with a vodka martini, but it was sort of impossible to turn down Colin. He was just so eager and happy all the time. It was unnatural.

   “Hey,” he said with a smile anyway. Being around Colin kind of lightened up his afternoon. They greeted with a kiss on the cheek before Harry sat down on the bar stool next to him. “What’s going on?”

   “Have you read the latest Prophet?”

   “Oh, fuck. No. Have they run another article about how Draco and I are clearing out our ‘sex dungeon’ for the baby’s nursery?” It made no sense. Draco and Harry could floo to Hogwarts whenever they wanted, and those dungeons were much more authentic. Some rooms still had chains and broken furniture in them, too.

   Colin laughed. “No, no. It’s not about you two and your scandalous sex life this time. You have to guess what it’s about.”

   “Guess…?” Harry waved over the bartender for a drink. It seemed like he would need it. “Hm. Is it about Hugo?” That little bundle of cute was on Harry’s mind quite a lot.

   Ron had taken a week off of work so that he and Hermione could get the babies all settled in, but that didn’t stop Harry from bragging about his new ‘nephew’ to every other Auror in his department that would listen. Harry wasn’t even a father yet and he was bragging himself into a hole.

   “Nope.”

   “Did Pansy make another child cry?”

   “Probably, but The Prophet did not seem to find that interesting enough for a front-page spread.”

   Harry sipped his drink. “Front page?”

   “Yup. You’ve got competition, Malfoy-Potter. I’ll give you a hint,” Colin decided, putting his left hand on the bar counter. It wasn’t specifically a gay bar or a straight bar, but the place still had some flashy neon lights around.

   Harry looked down expecting some sort of elaborate hand tattoo. Colin was acting especially persnickety that day, after all. Who knew what he was up to.

   It took Colin wiggling his left ring finger for Harry to notice. “ _Woah_.”

   “Isn’t it great?”

   “That’s one hell of a ring, too,” Harry said as he gingerly lifted Colin’s hand up to get a better look. “When did he propose?”

   “Somewhere between dinner and dessert. He was terrible at it and wound up yelling at a waiter halfway through, but I love him,” Colin laughed.

   Harry gave his friend a hug. “Congratulations,” he told Colin before patting his back and pulling back. “I think you two are brilliant together.”

   “Yeah,” Colin agreed. “We are. I guess all of the domesticity in the air is contagious, hm?  Who’d have ever thought we’d be settling down with real jobs and real people.” Colin had only been able to dream about it as a kid. “We’re, like, adults.”

   It was disorienting, yes. Music was changing to cater to younger tastes, movies marketed to teens didn’t appeal to Harry much anymore, and there were new trends he didn’t understand in the slightest. Whatever that book of faces muggles always talked about did, Harry was sure it wouldn’t catch on.

   “You’re getting _married_. Merlin, I still can see you as the little kid who kept trying to take my picture in second year. Who’s going to do your wedding photography?”

   “Hm. Not sure who I trust with it,” Colin admitted. He’d have to find a fellow artist willing to follow him around for a day. “But we’ll work out the details later. It’s hardly going to be the grand event your wedding was; I’ve always dreamt of a small wedding in the woods.”

   Well, at least Remus and Sirius could appreciate that.

   “The plan was originally the church in my home town, but I don’t think they’d appreciate the charmed invitations.”

   “Or the homosexual sinning.”

   Colin smirked. “Or that.”

   “Do you at least have a date in mind?”

   “After my father’s. Ugh.”

   Harry rolled his eyes fondly before giving Colin another encouraging pat on the back. “That’s a whole other conversation.” He hopped off the stool. “I’m gonna head off to the bathroom real quick.”

   Colin nodded and turned back to his drink.

   As Harry gently floated through the day-crowd that frequented the wizarding bars around the Ministry, he got some nods from bums that recognized him. Harry would probably have to arrest them for riding their brooms home drunk later that night.

   He gave them genial smiles anyway before finding his way to the men’s room.

   Thankfully, the man exiting the bathroom didn’t harass him for an autograph. Harry was proud of going mostly undetected that day, and did his business before washing his hands. That was when he heard it.

   Behind a closed stall door, a man moaned.

   Harry made a face. Sure, he and Draco had wild escapades in any available location, but they never let themselves get caught. Draco was always telling Harry that wasn’t ‘classy’.

   Even so, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. He dried his hands off, threw the towel away, and crouched down.

   There were two toilet-paper pads for where the woman’s knees rested on the floor. Aw. At least the man had been a gentleman about asking her for head. It was amusing to say the least.

   “Oh, yes—“

   Wait, why did that voice sound familiar?

   Harry quickly turned back to the mirror as if he’d been fixing his hair instead of snooping when he heard the man zip up his jeans. Those Auror senses of his were going to get Harry clocked one day, he just knew it.

   While he pretended to tame his feral hair in the mirror, he got a full view of the woman exiting the stall. She was slim and blonde, which sort of reminded Harry of Grace without the baby bump. Harry felt awful for thinking it, but if Grace had just stuck to third base like the woman in the stall had, then she wouldn’t be in so much trouble.

   “See you around,” she said airily before casting bedroom eyes at Harry, who promptly looked away.

   The man that stepped out of the stall had a smug, satisfied grin on his face. It took Harry a second, but he turned on his heels, cranked his arm back, and punched the man right in the face.

   Blaise fell to the bathroom floor before he even knew what was going on. “What the fuck?”

   “What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry demanded and grabbed his collar so he could properly intimidate the man that was cheating on one of the kindest people he had ever met.

   “Harry?”

   “Yeah, didn’t think you’d get caught, did you? I can’t believe you. You know, Ginny saw a future with you, but this is what you’re doing behind her back? You’re just…?” Harry couldn’t even finish the sentence.

   Scrambling for words, Blaise shook his head. “No, this isn’t what it looks like!”

   “Right, so she was a Healer just checking a latent mole.”

   “No!” Blaise shouted as he crawled to a sitting position. Of course it had to be Righteous and Holy Potter to find out about Ginny and his arrangement like this. Harry probably counted holding hands as cheating in his world of eternal love and devotion to all that is and would be Draco Malfoy.

   Draco was the same miserably committed way, too. Not even he would get Blaise’s needs.

   “Then give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex you senseless,” Harry growled. His only thoughts showed up as angry red scribbles before him, feeling himself fall into a familiar hypersensitivity that he’d worked so hard to shed for his Auror work.

   Blaise could see it, too. “Ginny and I have an agreement.”

   Harry’s wand—when had he taken that out?—dug into Blaise’s neck. “I knew you didn’t deserve her. She—She’s better than you could even dream of! She’s patient and _loyal_.”

   “Did you not hear me? We have an agreement. She does the same thing with whoever she wants. And you know what, if we want to talk about who was the shittier boyfriend to Ginny, I think the closet case should at least get a mention.”

   Blaise was certainly not doing himself any favors with that, but Harry supposed it was true.

   “Shut up,” Harry snarled anyway. “This is about you and—how many other women? Fuck, this is insane.”

   From the other side of the bathroom, Colin burst in. “Hey, Harry, you’ll never guess who I found.” Beside him, Ginny Weasley.

   “What the…” Ginny trailed off before running to Blaise’s aid.

   Looking at a panting Harry, Colin’s left ring finger, and Blaise’s blackened eye, Ginny let out a ragged sigh.

   Oh, they all would have some explaining to do.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “And they just—I don’t know—let each other cheat!” Harry told Draco, eyes wide with shock and general disgust. “It’s completely mad.”

   Draco looked up at Harry over the edge of his book with an amused grin. Grace had excused herself to the guest room after dinner which left Harry and Draco to once more enjoy their fireplace—magicked to cool the room since it was summer. Their parlor really was beautiful, and it made Harry sort of excited for cold winters snuggled up next to Draco. Their daughter could sit on their laps.

   “Why does it matter what Blaise and Ginny do?” Draco shrugged. He knew this conversation would drag him out of his novel, but Draco at least wanted to finish the chapter he was on.

   Harry huffed and crossed his legs on the couch. “Because. I want Ginny to be happy.”

   “And she can’t be happy sleeping around? Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, her name is Pansy Parkinson—“

   “Who now has a committed girlfriend,” Harry pointed out. Draco and Pansy shared every intimate detail of their sex lives with one another, so Draco couldn’t exactly argue to the contrary. She and Maggie were a party of two.

   Draco shrugged, trying desperately to finish the paragraph he was on before Harry spoke again.

   “What, do you think they have a point or something?” he asked when Draco remained silent.

   “No, no.” Draco put his book down with a huff before climbing out of the armchair and next to Harry on the couch so he could rest a hand on his knee. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

   “Then what are you saying?”

   He let out a hiss of air. “There’s no one way to have a strong relationship. You and I are monogamous because the thought of someone else getting to have you drives me up a wall. I want you for myself. Maybe that makes me selfish.”

   “It makes you a sweet and wonderful man,” Harry informed him, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. “And the thought of you with anyone else… I would kill them. That’s why we got married, isn’t it? For love and only having each other for the rest of forever and all that?”

   “We got married because I wanted to see you in dressrobes,” Draco teased.

   Harry rolled his eyes. “You probably wanted the gown and veil.”

   “I’m not going to deny that, no.”

   “And I’m not going to deny that Blaise and Ginny and their ‘open relationship’ is foreign to me. I know they’re entitled to do whatever they want and all that, but come on. Theo and Colin are getting married. I thought we were all growing up,” Harry admitted.

   Oh, how Draco loved that strictly traditional attitude of Harry’s paralleled with his kinks and sexual appetite. Draco gave him a quick peck and smiled to himself about it. A boy who liked to get whipped couldn’t stand the idea of seeing anyone but Draco ever again. That was something to reward him for.

   “What do you know about growing up?” Draco teased, caressing his upper arm. “You still brush your teeth with bubblegum toothpaste.”

   “It just tastes better, okay?”

   Draco rolled his eyes fondly, confident that neither of them knew a single thing about growing up. There wasn’t one way to do it, and they’d get to watch their own children give it a shot one day.


	29. The Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome To Night Vale is such a beautiful, wonderful show. I love it. Everyone go listen to it. Also! This chapter is for Nancy, Lori, and all the awesome new people I’ve met in the Draco/Harry facebook group. You guys get me.

**Chapter 29: The Forgotten**

   Did Grace feel pathetic? Yes. Did she look pathetic? Yes. Did she care what she looked like? Thankfully, no. A giant stomach took care of that problem, rendering her unattractive to even herself.

   She’d left a note for when Draco and Harry got back from work to find their mother hen had flown the coop for a walk among the unwashed masses.

   Grace had a stainless steel spoon in her left hand and a plastic tub of cake icing in the right hand. She needed a walk, goddammit. The house of Malfoy-Potter was lavish with luxury, but she had to get out of there before cabin fever got the best of her.

   To prevent that from happening, Harry and Draco had scheduled all sorts of things for her to do.

   Birthing classes. Massages for pregnant women. More shopping sprees. She was living the life of an heiress who’d been prematurely knocked up.

   That day, however, nothing had been on Grace’s itinerary. Not even a meal out with the prospective parents. They were both busy celebrating with the Weasleys even though the birth had been a week ago, and Grace could only imagine what would happen when they got their own kid. She wasn’t really going to stick around to find out, but she predicted centuries of celebration.

   A positive of having the two mysterious and wealthy older men out and about was that she got some privacy. She never used to get that at her house.

   Even when she walked down the street scooping icing out of its container and eating it like ice cream, she felt solitary. Nobody in this side of town knew her. Nobody would judge her for her messy bun, bare face (she never used to even leave the dorm without makeup), or her giant pretentious sunglasses. Hey, they kept the sun out of her eyes.

   Grace licked the spoon clean of her latest scoop of chocolate icing.

   As far as the people in the neighborhood knew, she was a glamorous and young trophy wife of some Russian mafia boss. None of them had to know she was a teenager when her tits had gotten so big. That was always a plus.

   Grace looked down passed her chest to her jar of icing. It reminded her of the cake she had baked back at the Malfoy-Potter house and had become so horribly overwhelmed by.

   The offending cake was right on the counter cooling off from the oven when the dreadful sense of disability hit Grace. Cakes didn’t usually send Grace into a flurry of emotion and general panic, but this one seemed to be an exception.

   Maybe it was that she realized she was going to have to ice the cake on her own, without any assistance from a third party since Draco and Harry were currently out of shouting distance.

   It made her head throb. She had to ice the cake all by herself. She was in a house she didn’t really know with men she didn’t really know.

   Her green eyes locked on the cake as it stood there naked—taunting her.

   Grace’s stomach churned with an unshakable nausea that made her hands shake when she looked up at the offending cake and the container of icing next to it. She would have to open that container. She would have to get a knife. She would have to ice the cake alone.

   Instead of doing that, she panicked.

   Grace grabbed the spoon she’d used for her breakfast cereal and ripped the lid off of the icing in one swift motion. In an act of defiance against some unnamed force she dunked the spoon into the icing, brought it back up, and lapped up every last drop of it.

   Now she didn’t have to ice the cake alone, she could just eat the icing. It had made much more sense at the time, she supposed.

   A startling thought hit her in the present. She was an _adult_. A grown woman eating from a tub of icing in public.

   Nobody could stop her, and that was terrifying.

   Grace’s life was suddenly without consequence. She could eat whatever she wanted, jump in front of a muggle car, drop everything and start screaming… There were no professors or guardians around to stop her.

   The thought of screaming haunted her as she passed the maternity clothing store Draco had taken her to earlier in the month. She could totally do it.

   She could absolutely just start screaming and nobody could tell her to stop. Grace Burbage was a free woman with a free mouth. It struck her then and there that she had to do it. She had to find some place where she could sit comfortably and howl her brains out.

   With reckless abandon she navigated the streets. Because it was a Wednesday afternoon the witches and wizards in the village were all at work.

   There was a little bench and water fountain nearby, definitely behind one of these buildings… Her eyes searched in panic. Grace could feel the scream growing in her throat already.

   The scream was close to bursting when she finally found that stone bench. It had been warmed by the summer sun, but it thankfully wasn’t hot enough to keep her from sitting down.

   Grace gingerly put the spoon and icing to the side, gripped the bench with two puffy hands—wasn’t pregnancy a miracle?—and screwed her eyes shut.

   She opened her mouth in a horrendous scream.

   It was high-pitched, a wail that carried across the fountain and the nearby shops. The first few seconds of it were gravelly in texture, but the rest came out as smoothly as a river. She held it at that one excruciating note for only Merlin knows how long.

   When her cracked lips finally came back together she didn’t regret her decision. Sure, her throat hurt like hell and she still had a splitting headache, but Grace didn’t regret screaming.

   She had avoided icing a cake alone only to scream alone it seemed. Nobody was rushing over to see if a young and impressionable girl was being dragged into a white van. It was almost as if no one had heard her.

   But Grace, as she usually did, miscalculated. The world may have been without consequence in that moment, but someone had heard her scream.

   This young wizard-in-training dashed to the scene of the damsel in distress. After all, he had promised to do right in the future! Here he was, saving an innocent woman from some peril—

   “Grace?”

   She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was. In fact, Grace was dead set on keeping them screwed shut.

   “Grace, is that…?”

   “If you don’t leave me alone,” Grace said shakily. “I will scream again.”

   Zeke didn’t really know how to respond to that. So, he just stood there in the pinnacle of teenage futility. He was in no power to change the situation in front of him and was attempting to be a ‘better man’ by respecting the requests of women whose lives he had come deathly close to ruining for good. The end result was him shutting his mouth.

   This was the first smart move he’d made in a while, even Grace had to see that.

   “I’m not icing your fucking cake,” she said, eyes still closed.

   “What?” Zeke took that as his cue to speak. “Look, you have every right to be mad at me. I was an asshole. I have a job now, I can try and support—“

   “No.”

   “I’m sorry I freaked out, I really am. Grace, like, you have to understand how hard this is for me.”

   Grace let another scream out. This one was much shorter, but made Zeke quiver in his skinny jeans all the same.

   “ _Uh_.”

   “I am,” she said slowly once the fire in her lungs had died down. “The size of a fucking whale. And you are telling me that you’re having, ‘like’, a hard time?”

   Zeke opened his mouth to respond, but Grace cut him off before he could even form a syllable.

   “I took care of things. It’s impossible for me to ice this dumb cake on my own, so I’m leaving it to someone else. Well, multiple someone elses. Two. They can ice it, because the thought of raising this thing alone is the stuff of nightmares,” Grace blathered on. The headache, sugar rush, pregnancy, and general emotional trauma all added up to one strong punch to her sanity.

   It was only then that Zeke realized she was talking about the baby, and not an actual cake. Also, the empty can of icing next to her was kind of creeping him out. Had she seriously eaten that right out of the packaging? “You don’t have to raise it alone.”

   Finally, Grace opened her eyes. “You’re right. I don’t.”

   “I have some galleons saved up from my bar mitzvah—“

   “I’m not raising this kid with you, Zeke. I told you, I’ve taken care of it. I have adoptive parents that are well off enough to raise it.”

   That was news to him. “You…? You found a couple?”

   “Yes.”

   “And you didn’t tell me?”

   “Yes.”

   “Don’t I have, like, father’s rights or something?” he stammered. “You know, in court! You can’t just give away something that’s half mine.” He’d seen that on muggle television before.

   Grace shot him a dirty glare. “Go fuck yourself, ‘half yours’. You made it pretty clear when I told you about the positive test that you weren’t taking responsibility. You disappeared. I’ve already made arrangements. Have you talked with Her Highness about suing me? I bet she’d love an illegitimate grandchild from a muggleborn milling around her home because I’m certainly not watching it.”

   ‘Her Highness’ was code for Zeke’s mother whenever they argued about her. Their arguments used to be simple and sort of stupid. ‘She doesn’t like me’, ‘she insulted my outfit’, ‘she gave me the evil eye all night’….

   “Shit. Fuck.” Zeke hadn’t even thought of that.

   “You don’t have the funds to pursue me in court.”

   “Well, neither do you,” he snipped just to get his last word in. Zeke was always doing that in arguments, like it was a battle to win.

   “I don’t,” Grace admitted. “But this thing—“ she motioned to her stomach “—has rich, rich daddies.”

   Zeke made yet another fatal error in the conversation that he’d been failing at from the start. “’Daddies’? Like, two of them…?”

   “Oh my fucking god, Zeke. If you say something about gay parents I am going to murder you and hide the body under the foundations of a Soho drag queen  bar I know about—“

   “I was with _you_ , Grace. Miss liberal lefty,” he reminded her. ‘Was’ happened to be the operative word in that sentence, though. “I’m not homophobic. It just shocked me, okay?”

   Grace huffed and crossed her arms. “How is it a shock that homosexuals want to raise children just like everyone else?”

   “You’re twisting my words! Merlin fucking god, Grace. Gay people are great. Gay people dress better than me and will always have better comebacks to insults!” His voice climbed, and it was really a wonder nobody else had stumbled upon them. They were a sight for sore eyes and a sound for sore ears.

   “Now you’re sticking to stereotypes!”

   “Will nothing please you, dammit?”

   “No!” she yelled. “Nothing will. You’re right. You’ve caught me. I’m too mad at you to not nitpick. What a fucking surprise.”

   Zeke huffed. “I get that. That’s justified.” His sister had told him to say that a lot so Grace knew she was appreciated and stuff. “You just… You should have owled me or something. When you made a decision.”

   “Don’t tell me what to do,” she mumbled, resigned. Maybe it was a mood swing, but that didn’t make her exhaustion any less real.

   “I’m not. You’d never listen,” he muttered. Zeke wondered if all couples were supposed to fight like this; spewing hate at one another until they tired. He wondered if the two blokes she’d promised their kid to did that. Those guys were married, though. They probably made up afterwards and told each other they loved each other. Grace and Zeke didn’t even love each other.

   “Can I at least have an address? I mean, to keep me updated. I want to be there when the baby is born at least before we give it away.”

   “ _I_ am giving it away, and no. You can’t be anywhere near the hospital during the birth. Draco and Harry—“

   Those were the magic words.

   The crew of paparazzi that had sat in waiting in the designated two-hundred fifty feet away from the Malfoy-Potter home after weeks upon weeks of work undoing Lucius’ meticulous spells—though they still couldn’t get anywhere near the house without feeling the need to throw their guts up—leapt from the shadows.

   The world had more consequences than Grace could have ever dreamed of.

   Her nightmare was a press field day.

   “When are you due?”

   “Do you think Draco and Harry will be good parents? Or will they ruin the kid like they were ruined by the Lupins?”

   One of the photographers grabbed a snapshot of Zeke while the rest creating a babbling, flashing circle of light around Grace. So many people had heard her scream, more than she could have ever dreamed of.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Draco put down the knife once he had smoothed the last patch of bare chocolate cake over with a new tub of icing from the store. The coating was uniform and prim, just like his house elves used to do it. His written correspondence with his mother had actually mentioned Gerda quite a bit lately.

   “Want a slice?” he asked Harry and Grace. If they didn’t, Draco hardly minded shoveling chocolate cake in his face alone. Malfoys were experts at filling emotional voids with everything from jewelry to cocoa.

   Harry, being a Malfoy-Potter, supposed he could give it a try. “Just a small slice.”

   “I don’t ever want to think about cake again,” Grace responded.

   “So I’m going to take that as a firm ‘no’,” Draco snarked as he cut a piece off for Harry and a chunk off for himself. He got them both plates and forks before heading back into the dining room where the other two were currently stewing in their own thoughts.

   Harry was undoubtedly filled with some soul-rending angst over someone close to him that happened to be carrying someone he would grow to love and see as a daughter had been harassed by paparazzi before she had the sense to run for cover in a building.

   “Here, love.” Draco set down Harry’s plate.

   It never seemed to matter what mood he was in, that soothing voice of Draco’s always managed to make him feel safe. “Thanks.”

   They were safe, weren’t they? They were behind closed doors and nobody was asking probing questions. Well, nobody but Harry.

   “Are you sure you don’t want anything, Grace?”

   “I’m sure.”

   Harry picked apart his slice of cake with his fork. He watched the little crumbs scatter before impaling them with the prongs and bringing them up to his mouth. Watching his cake was the only way Harry could keep from making a desperate attempt at conversation.

   Nothing Draco Malfoy-Potter did was desperate, though, so he was the first to speak. “Are you sure Zeke is the father?”

   “Yes,” she grumbled. It was almost depressing that she had only been with one guy before conceiving a living, breathing child.

   If Grace had paid attention in her birthing class she would know that fetuses don’t breathe and actually take their first breath when they are born, but there was no way in hell she was going to listen to that woman blather on about bodily functions.

   “Then a DNA test won’t be necessary,” Draco sighed. The test would be invasive and dangerous to the baby, too. “Don’t worry, I’ll have my father come over with the lawyers tomorrow. We can work all of the legal documents out there. As the one carrying the child, you can feasibly go right over Zeke’s head once we prove him to be an unfit parent.” That wouldn’t be hard, considering he was sixteen.

   Harry usually dreaded seeing the Malfoy family lawyers. “I’m sure they’ll seal everything up air-tight to keep us from court. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

   “What are you worried about?” Draco frowned.

   Instead of answering his husband, Harry turned to Grace. The next question would sort of say it all anyway. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

   “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Grace responded quickly. “I hate him. He’s an arse and a dick all at once and I dated him at one point. That’s it.”

   “Grace… Is there any chance—“

   “No! Harry, if you think I want to be living in some group-home with a screaming kid, then you are mistaken. I’m not going to work at McDonald’s to pay for diapers.”

   Draco’s frown turned to a look of curiosity. What was a ‘McDonald’s’?

   “You’re sure?” Harry asked again.

   Grace was almost offended by the questioning before remembering she was in no position to be offended by someone who had taken her into his home and life for the next few months. “I’m sure,” she answered in a solemn, serious tone.

   “Of course she is,” Draco murmured. Harry’s protectiveness was a trait that he often admired and found a bit sexy. In the moment, however, it was redundant. “My father is coming tomorrow; this will all be resolved.”

   Harry put his hand on Draco’s knee under the table. “Okay.” When Lucius visited, one problem was resolved and three more were ripped open, but he was sure Draco didn’t need to hear that right then. Just because Draco looked composed on the outside didn’t mean he wasn’t just as worried as Harry. Draco was just better at hiding it.

   “So. Any more pressing secrets or shocking revelations? Are your aunt and uncle going to show up at your bedside?” Draco went on, revealing a little bit of that worry.

   “No. That was it, I think,” Grace said. Well, she hoped.

   “Alright. Harry,” Draco turned to his sweet, sweet boy with the emerald eyes and the arms that held him every night. “Bed?”

   “Bed. Goodnight, Grace.”

   She took out her messy bun and let her hair fall down. “Goodnight.” When the door to Draco and Harry’s room clicked shut, she let out a little puff of air.

   The worst part was that Grace hadn’t even been worried that she’d upset Zeke, or broken some horrible news to the public… She had been scared that this meant Draco and Harry would drop her from some other girl with a less dramatic life.

   Even when she was spiraling out of control and screaming in public, Grace’s heart was in the same place. She wanted her girl to have a life of ease, sitting firmly in the lap of luxury. She would have the baby, hand it over, and be done with it. Zeke, the public, lawyers, Lucius, and everyone else be damned.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   The taller of the two sister lawyers reminded Grace of a crane. A proud, angry crane. Even her bony finger pointing at the line where Grace was to sign looked bird-like.

   Grace hadn’t decided what animal the other Bagley sister resembled.

   Lucius led in the family lawyers early that morning—which to an old man like Lucius, meant six in the morning. Harry had answered his knock on the door in slippers and Draco’s pyjamas, glasses askew on his face.

   It was no surprise that Lucius had responded to Draco’s owl post-haste. This was a threat to his family, an offense Lucius held in the highest ignominy. It was a threat to his entire line of heritage, name, and fortune too, but that was beside the point.

   “Sign,” said the shorter of lawyer gruffly.

   Grace would sign whatever the hell she needed to get this kid out of her realm of responsibility, even if the woman telling her to sign had smeared her austere lipstick on her teeth when putting it on. Maybe her ponytail was pulled too tight and it was starting to get to the poor woman. Materialism-wise, the rich woman. Lucius compensated them well.

   “Alright, where else?” Grace asked. She was overplaying her eagerness for Lucius’ benefit, and she supposed her own benefit, since Lucius was looking slightly murderous that morning. He had been a Death Eater, after all. He’d been there at her mother’s last hours.

   She didn’t want to think about that.

   The lawyers flipped through the forms. “Initial there, there, there, there, and there. Then sign the bottom of this.”

   “Father,” Draco said to break the uncomfortably silence that came about whenever Grace was busy signing. “Did you want anything to eat…?”

   “I had breakfast with your mother. I’d rather have this resolved, considering what The Prophet has to say about it.”

   Shit, Draco hadn’t even hopped to the nearby market to get a copy. Half of him wanted to ask what absurd lies they’d printed, but the other half knew his father had a much more resigned and sensitive sense of humor about fame.

   Harry and Draco exchanged looks before Draco outstretched his arm to him.

   Harry immediately flocked to his side so he could feel a warm, encouraging hand on the small of his back. He hadn’t slept well at all, so he rested his cheek on Draco’s shoulder.

   They’d both had a hard time getting to sleep. Draco tried everything from warm milk to back rubs on the both of them but nothing had soothed their mutual anxiety. “Everything is stupid,” Harry grumbled into his husband’s skin.

   “Yes, yes it is.” Draco watched Grace get hounded into signing again, and again, and again… “She’s due in five weeks. Five. That’s thirty-five days.”

   That helped Harry’s pout significantly. “Then we have our baby.”

   “Exactly.”

   “I’m going to put in the application for paternity leave to Kingsley today at work.”

   Draco turned to look Harry in the eyes, slightly shocked. “Are you sure? We could both work half-time, we could get a sitter…”

   “Nope.” Harry shook his head. “No nannies. Ever. If anything, we get Remus and Sirius to babysit.”

   “So we can come back and find our daughter is marching on the Ministry building in hemp clothes while she protests civil injustice?” Draco asked playfully.

   “Yes. We’ll take her to London Pride every year, too. We’ll be those obnoxious gay dads who lift their kids on their shoulders and walk the streets laughing in the faces of the people who tried to legally stop us from adopting.”

   Draco smirked. “Sounds perfect. You sure your department won’t fall apart without the Head Auror?”

   “Ron’s going to watch over things,” Harry shrugged. “For however long I’m out. I’ll still be doing paperwork for cases at home, of course.”

   ‘However long’ he was out…? “Well, how long are you planning to be out?”

   “And sign here, and here, and here… Flip the page over and sign on the line as well,” one of the Bagley sisters commanded Grace on the other side of dining room.

   “I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Most of the preschools we’ve looked at say they start accepting kids at two years old. Speaking of which, do you prefer the Place for Kids or Building Blocks? I think Building Blocks has nicer teachers.”

   Draco couldn’t believe Harry was being so calm about this.

   “We could visit this week, hm? Some of them have pre-registering requirements like essays and things. I think we could just write ‘Malfoy-Potter’ on the application and they’d accept us, though,” Harry chuckled.

   “You would really take _two years_ off of work?”

   Harry frowned. “Well, yeah. For the baby, anything.”

   “I could help, you know,” Draco reminded him.

   “You love your job.”

   “So do you.”

   “Your hours are more concrete,” Harry countered. “I can’t be on-call and leave the kid home alone. I like my job, sure, but I wouldn’t mind taking a break.”

   “A break…?”

   “I’ve been digging up bones this past month, Draco. I had to investigate the triple-homicide of a family yesterday,” Harry murmured as he saw Grace was getting to the end of her law packet. “You help people, Draco. I think I just pick up the pieces when it’s too late to help.”

   That was so wrong. Harry brought killers to justice, he repaired broken families and helped people grieve their spouses, their sisters, their _children_. Draco thought that was valuable, and was proud that his Harry did it.

   “Finished,” Grace announced triumphantly before putting down her quill. “She’s all yours.”

   Lucius wasn’t at all pleased with Draco’s choice of a mother, but that was admittedly reassuring. His granddaughter was all his. In writing.

   “Satisfactory,” Lucius said. He didn’t like sounding eager. “Now, let’s talk names.”

   “We have one,” Draco told him quickly. If he didn’t cement that in Lucius’ brain quickly then the man would surely pull out the star charts to browse for baby names.

   Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “Is it a deceased relative’s name?”

   Dammit. Harry wished he wasn’t so predictable. “I think you’ll like it,” he told Lucius carefully.

   “I doubt that.”

   “ _Father_.”

   “Yeah, come on, dad,” Harry teased. Lucius’ icy glare didn’t affect him like I used to.

   Still, the glare held some power. Grace was caught in the middle of it, too. She hadn’t even known they’d picked out a name.

   “I’m going to go up to my room now,” Grace interjected before leaving whatever fight was soon to come behind. No need to stress out Fiona, or Bella, or Cassidy, or whatever they were naming the damn thing. She couldn’t think of anyone besides Nymphadora Tonks that had died in the second war that they would spend time naming their daughter over.

   Grace wasn’t even alive for the first war, so she almost forgot entirely about Lily Potter née Evans. She didn’t even know that once the baby was born, Lily’s name would never be forgotten by a soul in the wizarding world ever again.


	30. Adult Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go through these phases where I fall in love with Drarry all over again and WOW I REALLY LOVE DRARRY. TW for BDSM and a bit of consensual nonconsent. Also, I am writing the BDSM scene after having gotten my wisdom teeth forcibly removed from my jawbone, so I am not at all jealous of Harry right now, haha. I’ve always considered myself more of a Harry in the streets and a Draco in the sheets anyway.

**Chapter 30: Adult Swim**

   Draco Malfoy-Potter, the esteemed, the rich, the heir to a fortune most would only ever dream about, was sitting on a plastic purple chair that barely fit his arse. The fact that Harry had taken him in the shower the night before—bending him over, pressing him up against the tile, pawing Draco’s arse as he fucked him and whispered in his ear how delectable he felt—wasn’t helping Draco’s ability to sit, either.

   “Sorry about that,” the woman who had seated the couple had one of her assistants barge in during the little interview about a ‘situation with the graham crackers’. That was the exact moment that Draco found himself glad his kids would grow up and he wouldn’t be surrounded by screaming imps for the rest of his life.

   “No problem,” Harry assured her. The twit was in love with the place.

   It was colorful, bright, filled with music and the laughter of children. Harry was robbed of a childhood by cruel relatives and this place screamed childhood glory.

   “Anyway,” the chipper woman went on. It was amazing that she kept her pin-straight hair so neat around a bunch of kids who were prone to magic hiccups. “We offer an incredibly comprehensive education program that integrates music and art into conventional learning techniques.”

   Draco knew exactly what his father would say to that. ‘Hippie something fairy something kids need structure, not unrealistic career goals’. Purely because it would annoy Lucius and it seemed to make Harry glow, he went along with it. “Of course.”

   “And it’s not simple finger-painting like other schools. We offer comprehensive courses on clay and wooden sculptures, modern art, and avant-garde theatre performance.”

   It was so ridiculously snooty and in every other situation where the term ‘avant-garde’ was used, Harry immediately rolled his eyes. But this… It was his little girl. His daughter. His baby. “Sounds… Adventurous.”

   The woman shifted happily in her own small red seat that seemed to be somehow comfortable for her. The great Boy Who Lived had complimented her academy for young minds. How many other headmistresses could say that?

   “Of course, don’t just take my word for it,” she went on, ego having swelled. “We have a council of parents that are always clued in on their individual child’s progress along with the progress of the class. We are a very tightly-knit community with ten children of each age.”

   “Ten overall?” Draco asked. He liked those numbers.

   “Yes. Ten two year-olds, ten three year-olds, and ten four year-olds. It’s a class of thirty altogether before they get glowing recommendations for private kindergartens.”

   “Wow.” Harry certainly hadn’t been expecting that. But if it really was the best place… Well, they had the galleons to spare.

  The woman leaned forward in her chair with a vaguely smug smile. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you two about our acceptance rate. On top of the fact that we like to take diverse children from diverse family situations, we pay special attention to the legacy of parents.”

   “Diversity…?” Maybe this was too snooty.

   “She’s talking about how gay we are,” Draco told Harry gently, one hand resting on his knee not only because he did indeed want to feel Harry’s pulse under his fingers, but also to prop himself up so all his weight wasn’t on his sore, sore arse. “And I am completely comfortable with using that to our advantage, along with our ‘legacy’.”

   Ah, right. The whole ‘killing Voldemort’ time of Harry’s youth.

   The headmistress recovered and gave them an understanding look after having been shocked by Draco’s brand of frankness. “We would greatly appreciate the child of the Head Auror and a distinguished Healer enrolling in two years. In fact, you could say you’re practically already accepted. Not that we would say that, since that would be unfair favoritism. Have you any idea when the birth date will be?”

   “October 7th is our best guess,” Harry said, having shaken off whatever was bothering him about the definitely unfair favoritism that would allow their baby a better education. Or, at least, an avant-garde one.

   “So she’ll be a Libra. You two are lucky, that star sign indicates not only intelligence but excellent communication skills. I bet she’ll be an early talker,” the woman gushed.

   _Hopefully_ , Harry thought. _She’ll be just like Draco and never shut up_.

   He just couldn’t imagine the two of them raising a shy kid. The poor thing would be even more plagued by fame than they had been.

   “Would you like to observe a class? Ms. Lane is working with counting today. There are various nuances that new students—since we start school in August—have to get used to. There is often a little separation anxiety among those students who haven’t left their parent’s side before,” she offered before standing and leading them into the next room that had a theme of clouds, balloons, birds, and all things high-in-the-sky on the walls. The pillows were even shaped like clouds.

   Draco and Harry gratefully followed if only to leave the stone-hard chairs behind.

   The headmistress had hoped for a silent entrance so the prospective parents could observe from afar, but all of the little heads in the room turned from the board to stare at the intrusion.

   “Hair-tie and Draco Mally-Pooter,” one kid with a particularly painful-looking dental device in his mouth. Harry would have to ask Hermione if it was even legal to force a child with baby teeth to wear that nonsense.

   Ms. Lane was clearly embarrassed by the mispronunciation, but Draco and Harry could have honestly cared less. The little boy had corrective glasses on the size of saucers, and he initiated the flood of children coming to Draco and Harry’s feet.

   “You beat the bad guy!” pointed out a red-haired little lady with bejeweled mary janes.

   A boy with pudgy hands hugged Draco’s leg. “I have two mommies. You’re two daddies?”

   “I’m so sorry,” the headmistress began before Draco knelt down and scooped up the wriggling boy. He was trying to get used to holding children, but they always moved like they had a mind of their own.

   “It’s fine,” Draco said, glancing over to Harry. The Gryffindor reached up to ruffle the boy’s hair out of instinct and that left Draco to imagine what a great father Harry would be. “And yeah, little guy. Harry and I here are going to be daddies.”

   The boy started snapping his fingers like he was at a poetry slam in the seventies. Oh, Remus and Sirius would love this place. When Draco looked down, all the other students were snapping along with him.

   “Clapping is too aggressive,” Ms. Lane told Harry and Draco to explain their students’ oddly adult behavior.

   It was really only a matter of seconds before they lost their self-control and burst into laughter.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Ron’s jaw dropped. “What the hell did you just say?” he demanded, face frozen in shock.

   “It won’t be straight away,” Harry assured Ron. “I mean, we have until October and I think Draco can get a week off of work to make sure you can adjust to it.”

   Ron was flabbergasted. “Harry, do you realize how calm you sound right now?”

   Harry shrugged. “I am calm.” Ron was a clever and brave Auror who hadn’t even let Voldemort stand in the way of good when Ron was a teenager. “I think you’d be a good fit for the job.”

   “Do you even hear yourself? You—You are the one who does all the paper work and puts on a suitable public face. You’re the bloody Boy Who Lived. You were practically destined to be Head Auror, Harry,” he went on in a stammer.

   “I have more important things to take care of. I don’t think my ‘destiny’ can really be filling out reports on petty theft and appearing at Ministry events to smile at cameras.”

   A huff of breath escaped Ron. “Then you’re really offering me the position?”

   “Really.”

   “For however long it takes to get Lily into pre-school.”

   “Yup. Maybe longer; we’ll see in time.”

   “Woah,” Ron stopped him there. “Are you…?”

   Harry knew exactly what Ron was trying to say. Their brotherhood was undeniable and he could pick up on Ron’s every nuance as if they actually were tied together by blood. Growing up with someone and sharing a room with them for seven years did that to a person. Hell, he could still imitate Ron’s snore perfectly.

   “Am I what?” Harry asked anyway. Feigning obliviousness was the only way he could bring himself to answer Ron’s pressing question.

   Part of that was because he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

   The day Harry had been appointed Head Auror he’d had a panic attack. It was Draco’s final straw before assigning Harry a therapist he trusted in the hospital.

   And sure, that had helped immensely. Harry could cope with his anxiety much better and he had a renewed sense of clarity. Part of that clarity had been nagging at him the entire Nott Sr. case. It spoke loudly to him now:

   _Take a break, Harry._

   “Are you quitting?” Ron asked quietly from Harry’s office chair.

   Harry hesitated in answering, which was probably a bad idea.

   “Are you feeling alright?”

   “Yeah,” Harry finally responded. “I am. I have Draco, a new house, and soon a new baby.” Well, they had a new baby if the father stayed out of court. Lucius would utilize his full arsenal and wallet to prove ‘Zeke’ an unfit father, but Harry couldn’t help but worry that the courts would rather see a child with its biological parent than with a gay couple.

   “I’m doing really, really well.” He laughed. “Okay, that sounded fucking pathetic. I’m happy! I don’t know, I think there’s just more than this job out there for me. I mean, I’ve instituted the changes I have always wanted to see, and I know you’ll continue that legacy.”

   Ron ran a hand through his hair, messing it up pretty terribly. It really was a good thing he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore. Hermione liked him tangles and all and was in no position to judge after having slept off a majority of the previous week. Giving birth was hard, but she’d be back to work soon.

   “You don’t have to take off. We can recommend day-cares,” Ron offered.

   “I want to take off,” Harry decided. “After Lily is born Draco and I have plans for a second child at least. Well, more like he promised me one in a moment of duress and I intend to hold him to it no matter how much he bitches. Maybe I can even sneak in a promise for a third kid if I get Draco drunk sometime soon.”

   A snort escaped Ron. “You’re baby-crazy, Harry. Completely mental. Not even Hermione is as thrilled as you and she went through all that pain to get the babies out. You did manage to faint then, though…”

   “We’re not bringing that up!”

   “Sure we aren’t.”

   “Shut up,” Harry laughed. “Just because you’re Head Auror doesn’t mean you can let it go to your head.”

   “Mental,” Ron nodded. “Definitely mental.” His eyes drifted down to the place on his uniform where the Head Auror pin would rest soon enough. “Finding a new partner is going to be a bitch.”

   “Just think of it as an adventure.”

   “I’m thinking of it as a bunch of awkward first dates until I find someone I can mildly understand,” Ron grumbled. “I hate dating. I did it once in sixth year and you know how well that went. I don’t want to have to shop around for a best friend on the job.” Nobody could replace him outside of the job, of course.

   Harry gave him a look of mock-sympathy. “I know, I know. You’ll miss me horribly. But hey, after work you are entirely welcome to bring Rose and Hugo over for a play-date so you can tell me all the inane things you’re forced to investigate and the cold cases that are going nowhere.”

   “And you can keep me updated on your weird, weird sex life.”

   “We’re not bringing that up, either.”

   “Gays are so lucky,” Ron sighed. “You don’t have to worry about recovery from pregnancy. You don’t even have to worry about pregnancy. You and Draco could just shag all day, all night, every second…”

   Harry made a face.

   “Oh, quit looking at me like that! I’m not languishing over it like your fans do. Believe me, if I had liked men back in school I would have at least gotten in on some of the insanity Draco was a part of. You really missed out with all of that brooding instead of handjobs business.”

   “You’re a nutter,” Harry told him fondly. “You wouldn’t last a day as a homo.”

   “Oh?” Now Ron wanted to know why.

   Somewhere, Harry remembered some phrase from a bumper sticker or another… “The few, the proud, the gays. You’d have to deal with bigots all day, and we both know you’re the first to throw a punch or a hex. You’d also have to dress much, much better.”

   Harry and Ron liked to joke about stereotypes, considering Harry couldn’t dress himself to save his life. When he and Draco had started going out, he’d allocated Draco to that job. He figured if the Slytherin could take his clothes off he could put them on just as well.

   “What? What’s not gay about how I dress?” Ron asked, offended. He looked down to his black Auror robes in disappointment. He’d thought the gay from Harry would rub off on him at some point, since Harry had been too respectful to actually rub off on him back in school.

   Ron wasn’t saying he’d have let him get very far, but the attention would have been reassuring! Was he just not attractive to men?

   “You practically reek of heterosexuality, Ron. You just couldn’t pull it off,” Harry let him down easy.

   “Dammit.”

   “Sorry to disappoint.”

   “Eh,” Ron sighed. “I guess the Head Auror could deal with it.”

   “So you’ll accept the position?” Harry’s eyes lit up behind his glasses.

   Ron nodded. “Yeah. On one condition.”

   He made a face, but listened all the same for Ron’s request. Handing in his application for a leave to Kingsley would be hard enough and he hoped it wouldn’t be that difficult with his bloody best mate.

   “I get to tell Hermione,” Ron said with a big smile.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   With their sex restricted to just one room in their spacious, beautiful, ever-so-shagged-in home, Draco and Harry were forced to get creative.

   More so than their regular kinks, of course.

   This one made the hairs on Draco’s neck stand up when Harry told him about it.

_“I found a use for the muggle internet you may like, Draco. You may even love it. See, it starts out with giving me a minute-long sleeping potion…”_

   After he heard what he got to do with Harry’s slumbering body, Draco warmed up to the idea.

   He would use magic to tie intricate rope knots around the bed post before Vanishing Harry’s clothes. Draco marveled quietly at the level of trust Harry had with him, rendering himself entirely incapable of defending himself for a full sixty seconds.

   Draco used that time to faithfully secure Harry to the bed on his back, legs spread wide open. His mouth was full of a ball-gag and his arms were fastened above his head. The rest of the ropes were really for show, but it made Harry looks like he was trapped in a spider web with no escape.

   While Draco had never used spider imagery in bed before, he was more than willing to make an exception.

   “Mm?” Harry groaned as he shifted awake. The ropes let him move about a centimeter in every direction before the tugging became too much.

   Harry looked confused for a moment before remembering what he had asked for.

   Draco observed him as he paced the room, closing blinds and turning on lights so the only thing allowing him to see Harry was the harsh florescent bulbs. “Sleep well?” he smirked.

   Harry let out a little whine and tried to pull at the ropes as if he were really considering making an escape. He liked the struggle, especially with the knowledge that Draco would never be so merciful as to let him out of this easily.

   If Harry really wanted it to end he’d snap his fingers and the ropes would disappear, but he had no intention of doing that this early in the game.

   “Go ahead,” Draco offered. He’d stripped down to just his trousers. He’d toured fucking preschools all day. Madness. He needed some adult fun. “Struggle all you want. Nobody will hear you yell except for me.”

   With a grunt, Harry tried moving his wrists. The rope burned into his skin as he yanked away from the bed post, making him twist in even more pain.

   Draco watched at the foot of the bed, mystified. Every time Harry seemed to cringe away from one body part in pain, another would be affected by the ropes wrapping tighter around him. Oh, Harry was a genius for this one.

   “I saw you dancing tonight and I couldn’t get enough.” Draco loved weaving stories. “Shaking your whore arse around and flirting with every man with a pulse. I took it upon myself to bring you here to show you what a real man is like, and to show you what happens to boys who act naughtily.”

   Harry fell into the scene immediately. “Pluf,” he tried against the gag. “Staph.”

   “I don’t think I will,” Draco grinned as he sifted through their treasure chest of toys. The empty protests just added to the fantasy. “Hm, now what to use…”

   Draco bypassed clamps, candles, paddles, crops, whips, and all of Harry’s favorites for a heavy flogger they hadn’t used in a while. The tails were thick and about a foot long, and there had to be at least twenty. Twenty points of impact for Harry’s sweet, pale skin.

   He showed Harry what he had decided on just to see his green eyes widen with anticipation. “Knew you’d love it.”

   Draco started with a light swish of the flogger on Harry’s chest. This time, he decided, it would be a build to the pain. He’d make Harry work for it until he was close to begging.

   “That hard enough for you?” he teased, the next swish of the tails coming at only a slightly faster speed.

   Harry managed to shake his head in the bonds and whimper around his gag.

   Draco chuckled and ran his nails down the perked-up skin. “See? I knew you’d love this. I could fucking smell the painslut on you. Now—“ he unfastened the gag, “—that we understand you belong to me tonight, you’re going to have to answer some questions.”

   “Yes, Sir,” Harry nodded eagerly, glad his Master had given him his voice back.

   The flogger whipped against his skin, actually leaving a sting this time. Harry’s face twisted in a long-awaited burst of pleasure when the pain finally came.

   “How hard can you take it?” Draco purred. “Because you know how hard I can give it to you.”

   “As hard as you can, Sir. Whatever pleases you,” Harry told him, his cock hardening at the words leaving his lips.

   The next crack of the flogger tails was even harder, and Draco was sure to bring it down across his nipples. “Good boy,” he murmured as he watched Harry arch up into the blow. “I’m going to mark you all up.”

   Finally, Draco brought it down with that harsh force Harry loved so much.

   “Fuck,” Harry gasped as the sting lingered and thrummed across his skin.

   Draco flicked his wrist—it really was all in the wrist—back down again so the leather tails landed on Harry’s stomach. “Whining already? We’ve barely started, pet.”

   Harry gritted his teeth and balled up his fists for the next two splashes of pain Draco brought down on him. Draco always delivered on promises to leave Harry with marks that reminded him of exactly who he was bound to for life.

   ‘Bound’ being the key word.

   “Mm.” Draco stopped the sensational assault so he could stroke the reddened skin. Harry’s shudders when he did made Draco’s stomach flip. “That was just me getting warmed up, darling. You don’t even want to know what I’m going to do your pretty, pretty thighs and that cock of yours I’m so fond of.”

   Harry, the crazy bastard, smiled. “Give it your worst,” he snarked.

   Draco’s nails immediately came down to pinch and twist his nipples. “You little fuck. You won’t forget to address me properly again when I’m through with you.”

   Harry hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten the ever-important ‘Sir’.

   All he was left to do was lay there and take it. Harry’s eyes screwed shut, hissing through the pain before he grabbed the flogger once again.

   He snapped the tails right across the bottom of Harry’s foot. The nerve endings made him jump, but the ropes held him down so he couldn’t get away, forcing Harry to helplessly squirm against the sheets below him.

   That little blow was only to throw him off, though. When Harry least expected, Draco cracked the flogger down like a whip against his erection. “Sir!”

   Without even responding, Draco snapped it down again and again and again. He fixated on every inch of Harry to make sure he was absolutely writhing. The flogger reddened the head of Harry’s leaking cock, his shaft, his quivering thighs…

   Harry cried out against each blow without fail, creating a rhythm that was music to Draco’s ears. “That’s what you get,” he panted from the strain of bringing his arm up and down so hard.

   “Yes, Sir,” he choked out.

   Oh, and it all only made Harry harder. “You are so fucking horny,” Draco laughed breathlessly, utterly and completely amazed by the man beneath him. “I could do anything to you, couldn’t I?”

   “Anything, Sir,” Harry nodded, half-relieved and half-disappointed that the pain had stopped. “Anything at all for you. I’m your loyal little lion cub.” It sounded ridiculous out loud, but Harry knew he was safe here, even when he was being corny. Draco’s arms were a safe space even with all of the instruments of torture he used on Harry.

   “That’s right.” Draco climbed into the web of ropes in a wave of tenderness that seemed only natural. His nails still dug into the bruised skin around Harry’s ribcage to keep the right balance of being the stern, reprimanding Master and still being the one who cared about Harry more than anything. “You’re my little lion cub. I’ve got you right on my ankle.” It was a wildly ill-advised tattoo, but the sentiment was sweet all the same.

   Harry rested his bruised body for a moment. “You know, Sir, just because I’m being a sap doesn’t mean I don’t want you to keep punishing me.”

   Draco gave Harry’s arse a squeeze. “I try at romance and you still want to be slapped around,” he grinned before sitting up and positioning himself between Harry’s legs so his hands rested on his thighs. “That’s my kind of bloke. Now, ready for me to fuck you? Oh, wait, I don’t care.”

   Draco, one hand behind his back all while he’d spoken to Harry, had covered his fingers in lubricant. He pushed three fingers into Harry so he wouldn’t forget who was in charge, shoving past rings of tight muscles that certainly hadn’t expected the intrusion.

   “Draco!”

   He laughed to himself at how Harry was powerless to so much as inch away. Draco drove his fingers in deep towards Harry’s core, being sure to press up hard against his prostate gland. The cocktail of pain and indulgence strangled Harry’s cry.

   Draco took him faster than Harry could properly react to.

   He fucked him rough and hard, slamming his cock into him once he’d wriggled his fingers out.

   Round two was even better that night, and round three left bruises Harry would maintain for weeks. If this was what they needed after a day of pipsqueak activities, Draco couldn’t wait for the sex to come after the baby.

   Well, after the baby leaned how to sleep through a night without bothering her frisky fathers.


	31. Leash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is unrelated but how great would it have been if Voldemort never existed and Remus/Sirius had all these kids who went to Hogwarts and constantly got in trouble with Snape because they would refuse to stop sassing him?? It would be the greatest thing. Parent-teacher conferences would be infinitely more combative and sarcastic. Oh my god. It would be perfect. Anyway, Drarry!

**Chapter 31: Leash**

   The Bagley sisters had built a rather tough wall of legal documentation to break down. At least, that was what the lawyer Zeke spoke to said.

   He trusted the anonymity of the small firm on the corner of Cauldron Street, spilling his secret to someone he had neither seen nor heard of before. Zeke couldn’t very well go to his family lawyers without his mother finding out, and there was even a risk level with this.

   The stern older woman had noticed an uneasiness in her heir. That busy-bee working spirit of his was out of character, and she refused to believe he was owning up to household responsibilities without an intense amount of prodding from her. When he wasn’t working at that convenience store in Wizarding London, then he was holed up in his room. She had suspected him of sneaking out, but whoever he was sneaking out to meet—unlike that bratty little girl from Hogwarts—didn’t seem to make him too happy.

   No matter. The way Mrs. Bowen was raised assured her that relationships were only supposed to be functional, not happy. It didn’t stop her from sending a charmed memory-capturer (from that joke store owned by the Weasley… Which one was he again? No matter. It was the closest to a war hero she would ever come and she was perfectly fine with that) after her son to record where he spent his hours at night, though.

    Calmly, she sat down in front of a pensieve and poured the liquid-gold recording into the water. She’d secured her dark black hair up in a bun so it wouldn’t get wet when she dipped down to immerse herself.

   Mrs. Bowen took a deep breath and held it before going in.

_“So, you have a nursery set up for the baby?” a queer-looking man with tiny spectacles asked her son over a dark-wood desk._

_Zeke shook his mop of hair. Oh, dear, did he need a haircut…_

_The lawyer pursed his lips. “What are you looking to get out of this situation, then? Mr. Bowen, what is your ideal outcome?”_

_“That I didn’t get my girlfriend pregnant in the first place,” Zeke mumbled. He would never stop kicking himself for not buying more condoms._

_“Yes, well. You did.” The lawyer, a mister Frank Row from what it said on the plaque behind him that assured all customers that he had indeed graduated from law school, had to be joking._

_Mrs. Bowen watched on in frozen desperation for her son to start laughing, to play this as some sort of sick teasing…_

_“Mr. Bowen,” began Row with a pathetic attempt to catch and hold Zeke’s eye-contact. “We are not a time-travelling firm. Even if we were, laws forbid such companies of altering birth or death times. Now that we’re in the present, what would you like?”_

_Zeke frowned. The little cogs in his brain were moving, but there seemed to be no words coming out. “Uh.”_

_“The Malfoy-Potter family is interested in a closed adoption. They don’t mind sending updates about Lily’s progress—“_

_“Lily? They named my kid already?”_

_With a sigh, Row reached for the copy of The Prophet he’d shoved in his drawer earlier. “Right here,” he said as he unfolded page two. “’The prospective parents have chosen a family name to pass on to their daughter, as well as a family middle name. Narcissa and Lucius are surprisingly pleased with the selection, says Rita Skeeter, who saw the couple and managed to get a brief statement from them after they were told of their grandchild’s name at a local diner by Draco and Harry themselves. For photos of them hugging from afar, turn to page six’…”_

_“And a middle name,” Zeke deadpanned. “They picked all the goddamn names out.”_

Zeke’s mother couldn’t take another second of it. She ripped herself from the pensieve only to earn an excruciating headache in the process. “Prophet!” she roared. “I need to see The Prophet!”

   Her stubby house elf awoke from his nap in the foyer with a start. “Y-yes Madam!”  If he was caught sleeping again, he knew he’d get the cane. His tiny feet made like the wind in order to avoid such a fate and zipped to the front door where the newspaper was deposited in no time.

   Madam met him halfway up the stairs. There were strands of hair that had escaped her bun, and there was some kind of liquid dripping off the edges of them. “Give me that,” she snarled as she snatched up the paper. “You imbicile! This is today’s paper. I need the one from yesterday!”

   “Yes, Madam… Sorry, Madam…”

   After fishing it out of the trash, the elf passed the paper to his owner. She was disgusted by the bits of chopped up tomato that had fallen on some of the pages, but that was what happened to things that got tossed in the rubbish bin…

   Sure enough, there was the page that Frank Row had pointed to in the memory.

   This all had to be some cruel prank, right? After all, she had purchased the recorder at a prank store, maybe her son had found it. He was probably just playing a trick on her to get her riled up. Yes, that had to be it.

   Yet the Pureblood talent of self-delusion would only last for a moment. Reality was closing in on her faster than she was ever prepared for.

   All it took was one teenage boy who’d forgotten his muggle phone on his way to work— _hey_ , he figured. _Why not turn around and go get it? I’m royally and utterly screwed anyway!_ —to fumble with the door and push it open to push his mother over the edge. That would teach Zeke never to underestimated just how screwed he could be.

   “Hey mum, have you seen my—?”

   “You!” she exclaimed in a shrill tone as she stormed over to him. “You made me a grandmother so young!” She wasn’t really that young, but if Zeke pointed that out it would probably put him in even more hot water. “And you screwed that mudblood girl I forbade you from seeing!”

   Zeke’s lips were horribly dry. He tried to lick them to make them feel better as he thought of something to respond to that with. “Um… I don’t think she would appreciate being called a mudblood, you know? That’s sort of wrong.”

   “And now she’s brainwashed you!”

   “What’s going on down there?” Zeke’s sister shouted from her room. All she wanted was for school to start again so she could be back in her sparkly blue dorms and far, far away from her mother.

   “I don’t care what the subject of your illegitimate affair would appreciate,” Mrs. Bowen hissed. “She’s a classless, rude, obtuse, inappropriate, mudblood slut!”

   ‘Slut’ echoed in the very boards that held the house together. It was like she had rung a bell to signal it was slut’o’clock.

   The word brought Zeke back to a conversation he’d once had with Grace over some butterbeer. She’d rambled on and on for what had to be an hour at the least, being loud and oblivious to people staring at her blab. She’d talked about how wrong it was to call people sluts, to shame them for something they were biologically meant to do. Zeke could only remember key phrases like ‘true feminism’, ‘bigotry’, and ‘misogyny’ but they would have to do.

   Zeke Bowen was standing up for—well, she wasn’t his girlfriend, she wasn’t even really his friend—he was standing up for himself, then.

   “Don’t call her that,” Zeke said clearly and loudly like he was Grace back in the Great Hall. “Don’t call her a ‘mudblood’, either.”

   “Don’t you talk back to me! To your room!”

   “No!”

   “Mum, what the hell?” Zeke’s sister demanded from the top of the staircase. She’d put her headphones and books aside for this since it sort of seemed important.

   Her mother whipped around to deal with her. “You! You get back to your room, too! The both of you to your rooms!”

   “How is grounding me going to help us figure this shit out?” Zeke practically begged.

   “And now you’re cursing, too!”

   “I got a girl pregnant!” Zeke reminded her a little desperately. “Time-outs don’t really work on me anymore, mum!”

   She grabbed her son by the ear. If this had to be done the hard way, then that was the way she’d do it. In spite of his protests, she guided him up the stairs with a forceful tug before they finally reached his room. “And if you sneak out again, you’ll never see the inside of this house again!” she roared as she shoved him into his room.

   Mrs. Bowen used her ebony wand to lock all of the windows and doors in the house simultaneously just to be sure. She would deal with her corralled kin when she came back from a little chat with an old friend.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Draco finished his calligraphy on the baby shower invitations with a dramatic flourish. “Perfect. Round up the owls, Harry.”

   Harry wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to ‘round up’ the winged crowd that had perched in every available surface of their kitchen. None of them had relieved themselves on Draco’s precious marble counters, but there was still time for a bunch of owls to send Draco into a snit.

   “Harry?”

   “Give me the invitations,” he requested, outstretching his hand. “I think I can attach them one-by-one.”

   A smile floated across Draco’s face. “Here.” Draco handed Harry the stack of cards along with a kiss on the cheek.

   Draco could care less if he and Harry weren’t the ones pushing out the baby. Draco Malfoy-Potter never passed up the opportunity to host a cocktail party. Never. Such a thought made him pale with worry and would surely give him wrinkles at a young age.

   “When you’re finished up with that, all we have to do is patiently wait a week for our friends to fill up our gift registry and get drunk in front of them when the time comes,” Draco grinned as he watched Harry wrangle in each owl to tie a silken bow around each fragile ankle. It really was good to have someone around who was willing to touch animals.

   Harry took a tawny owl by the wing so he could secure the flowery parchment to it. “Ah, of course.” His parents had probably done the same thing, with Remus and Sirius bringing the booze. Lily hadn’t had a drop, but of course James drank enough for the both of them.

   Mutely, briefly, Harry wished his parents could be there with him. Grandma and Grandpa to a brand new Lily, though they probably wouldn’t have named her that if the original Lily wasn’t dead.

   Lily the Second, as if she’d heard her father’s thoughts, gave Grace a particularly violent kick. “Ugh,” she grumbled from her place at the kitchen table. While Draco wrote invitations, she finished up her summer work in preparation for school. “Your kid hates me.”

   “She’s kicking again?” Harry sent the last snowy owl out of the kitchen window before rushing over to her. Harry didn’t usually grope women’s stomachs yet was making quite a few exceptions to that lately.

   Grace sighed and sat up in the high-back chair. At least her kid would grow up in a touchy-feely home. “Yeah. Lively one, I guess.”

   Draco crossed around the table to join his husband in staring at a teenage girl’s midriff. Grace experienced a special brand of awkward that she doubted anyone before her had ever encountered.

   “Can we—?” Draco asked to be sure.

   “Yeah, yeah, feel away.”

   Harry and Draco flattened their palms on the baby bump, crouching down to get closer. The first thing they felt was Grace’s heartbeat so they searched underneath the surface.

   The tremors had begun as little tickles around the five month mark, but now it felt as if someone was flicking Grace from inside her. That quick but distinct twitch caught both Harry and Draco’s attention.

   “There she is,” Grace said flatly.

   Draco would have lingered if he had no idea what a social cue was. “Alright.” He put his hand on Harry’s back and guided him back up to standing. “Thank you,” he said cordially to the young woman.

   Grace smirked. “Any time,” she snarked as if this was all nothing.

   It was easier that way. “I’m going to head up to my room, I think. Watch some telly. If I write any longer I’ll get a cramp like I’m taking the OWLs or something.”

   “Mm, and it’s the NEWTs you have to worry about,” Harry mused. “Don’t worry, they weren’t so bad. I was out of school for a year chasing down a mass-murderer and not once did I crack open a text book, but hey, I returned for some cram months and everything was alright.”

   “Yeah, Golden Boy, I’m sure I can make a repeat performance,” Grace grinned. Harry was always saying encouraging things like that as if they would make a difference.

   Draco smirked. “Watch it, Harry. She’s got your number. Do you still want to come out with us tonight for dinner?”

   “Sure,” Grace nodded before tucking her hair behind her ears and making her way up the stairs. The sound of the door shutting in the distance wasn’t as strange as it was when she first moved in.

   Harry looked out the window to see the last of their delivery owls fly off into sunlight. “Our baby is kicking,” he murmured happily to himself. “Maybe she’ll play football.”

   “No child of mine is playing a muggle sport.”

   “You’re such an arse,” Harry laughed.

   Draco nodded understandingly. “Yes, yes I am. I can’t wait until Lily turns out exactly like me so we can overpower you. It’s going to be such a great father-daughter bonding experience.”

   “Hey, I’ll be the one watching her at home. I can turn her into a stand-up Gryffindor girl whose main interest lies in saving dying, pus-filled, bloody magical creatures,” Harry teased.

   In a flash, Draco whipped around. “How dare you,” he whispered in mock-betrayal before cupping Harry’s cheeks and giving him a tender kiss. “I want a divorce.”

   “As long as I get to keep the lube for all the other men I shag after you.”

   “I have changed my mind. I no longer want a divorce,” Draco laughed. “Lucky you.”

   This time, Harry was the one to cradle Draco’s face to bring him in for a kiss.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Gerda hadn’t seen another of her kind in what had to be years.

   The decline of pureblood culture left house elves with masters few and far between, with others finding minimum-wage jobs in inns and restaurants and beginning to form communities with the help of Ministry workers like a certain Misses Hermione Weasley.

   Things certainly weren’t like the old days, when Dobby and several other elves from the Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Nott households were all pooled together in one mansion’s kitchen while their owners dined in serenity.

   The number of elves they had for dinner parties was even more grandiose, as every pureblood family with a purist reputation was invited, even those without endless pockets. While the elves slaved in front of stoves and hurriedly arranged dinner platters, Narcissa put on a short cocktail dress and her highest heels.

   She was younger then, with less wrinkles and worry-lines haunting her face. After all, who in the world had it better than her? She was glamorous, rich, and blonde. She made other women’s husbands gawk and kept her own husband faithful. That was more than Goyle’s wife could say, anyway. Cheating was a popular activity for Goyle and Parkinson Sr., and it would have been for Nott Sr. if he hadn’t, you know, murdered his wife.

   Anyway, a young Narcissa refused to dwell on such ugly things.

   She fixed Draco’s bowtie and kissed his forehead before dismissing him to go play with his friends in his room while the adults had the real party downstairs.

   Narcissa had never lived without someone serving her, she’d never lived without that sense of entitlement. That was why when twenty years later her husband suggested they get a new house elf to replace the one that Bellatrix had killed, she had said ‘of course, dear’.

   Thus, Gerda was brought under the roof of Malfoy Manor. She was born a few days after Dobby’s death, so when the Manor was returned to Lucius’ custody after an extensive Ministry investigation Gerda was ripe for the picking.

   She was only kept in a cage for sale for a few weeks with fellow house elves before being shoved into a life of service to humans.

   Now there was one of her kind right in front of Gerda’s large, misty eyes.

   “H-Hello.”

   “My mistress is wishing to speak with your master,” Waldy spoke up. His ears were much bigger than hers, and looked more sensitive.

   Gerda wrung her hands nervously, looking over her shoulder and back into the Manor. “Master is at the bank, managing his many investments. Mistress is at home,” she answered.

   Waldy shook his head up and down so hard that Gerda heard a hollow rattling. He didn’t say anything more before turning around and sprinting back to the woman at the front gates of Malfoy Manor.

   “Mistress!” Gerda called, stamping her own way up the stairs to where a graying but still very blonde Narcissa Malfoy. She’d kept her man at her side far past her glory days of youth with hair-dye.

   Narcissa quit her reminiscing and put down the wine glass she’d been losing herself in.

   “Gerda,” she said pleasantly. “Who’s at the door at this hour? I thought Draco and Harry were taking Grace out to dinner tonight.”

   “Yes, Mistress, that’s probably also true. There is another elf! Another elf here!”

   She grimaced. That certainly wasn’t the sort of guest she was expecting. “Bring them out to the parlor,” she said anyway, taking her wand off of a nearby table to be safe about it.

   Gerda took care of everything as she usually did. She sat the guest down in the parlor, brought them tea, and waited patiently for Narcissa to arrive so she could announce her Mistress’ presence. She put her spidery hands behind her back and hummed while she waited.

   The other elf, Waldy, fell in love immediately.

   “Mistress Narcissa Malfoy née Black, first of her name,” Gerda announced. Narcissa was also the last of the Blacks to survive the war who wasn’t gay, but she kept that in her head. She and Sirius were the end of the Black empire after years of reigning strong.

   Narcissa’s drop-waist gown gave her the illusion of floating across the hardwood floors. Really she had just been too lazy to put shoes on, but it was her house and figured she wouldn’t be bothered that day.

   “Ah,” Narcissa started. “Welcome. I recognize you from…?”

   “When you graduated Hogwarts I was in first year Slytherin,” Mrs. Bowen informed her elder courteously.

   She remembered the first time she’d seen Narcissa Black, when she was Head Girl. Her hair fell in ringlets around her face since her mother had tightly curled them with her wand before sending her youngest daughter off to her last year of school. Her eyeliner was impeccable and her robes expertly tailored.

   Every first year student who liked women was head over heels. Even though Anne Bowen wasn’t of that persuasion, she could see why they loved her. Narcissa was the quintessential pretty and dainty popular girl with a sharp wit and a drive about her.

   Mrs. Bowen had idolized her, and now she was sitting in her parlor once more. Anne and her husband had left the children at home to attend one or two Malfoy banquets, but they were hardly guests of honor. Just purebloods.

   Her most vivid memory was of Narcissa curled up in the girl’s dorm after hours reading a letter by the green fireplace. Her sister Bellatrix’s face was in the fire smiling at every word Narcissa read aloud.

_“I look forward to seeing you this Christmas, Narcissa. As I recall, you look beautiful with a wintery background. It will probably snow around the Manor, and I’d love to show you the gardens blanketed in white. After you graduate, I expect we’ll be spending a bit of time together.”_

_“He wants to sleep with you,” Bella drawled. She had graduated with the slimeball, after all. “Lucius told me the same thing before I was promised to Rodolphus.”_

_Narcissa giggled. “So, did you ever?”_

_“No!”_

_“Good.” Narcissa played with the fringe of her nightgown with a girlish smile on her face. “Because I might.”_

   “Ah.” Narcissa still didn’t remember the woman’s name, but she’d be damned if someone realized she wasn’t on the social up-and-up.

   “Anne Bowen,” she clarified, reaching forward for a cup of tea.

   Narcissa nodded as if she’d known that all along. “It’s a pleasure. What brings you to the Manor? I’m afraid my husband manages the sale of heirlooms if you’re interested in any of the paintings we currently have up for auction.”

   “This isn’t about paintings. This is about your son.”

   Oh, Mrs. Bowen had fucked up big time. That was possibly the worst thing she could have said out loud to mother who loved Draco enough to lie to a warlord. “I’m afraid he’s at work,” she said with pursed lips. “You’ll have to come back another day.”

   Anne realized her mistake about a second too late. “Narcissa—“

   “No. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to leave. I allowed you in for your standing as a pureblood woman and you have, within a minute of first seeing me again, reminded me of why my son has risen above bloodlines. Gerda, show them the door.”

   “ _Narcissa_ —“

   “I don’t care to know what you’re here for. If you want an interview, a photo, an autograph… I don’t care.”

   “It’s about the girl,” she finally managed. “Grace. See, I have a son… And they were romantically involved.”

   “And he slept with her?” Narcissa demanded bluntly. She was a mother and a wife, there was no need to be a shrinking violet.

   “Yes.”

   “So he’s the father?”

   “I believe so. Grace was always a looser woman than I preferred for my boy…”

   Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “There is maybe nothing I care about less than what you want for your son. Nothing. You’ll have to speak with my family’s lawyers about this matter if your dimwit spawn thinks he can sink his claws into my grandchild.”

   “No,” Mrs. Bowen protested with a little laugh. “Heavens, no. I want this off of his name—off of our family name.”

   “Wonderful. It’s all in the Malfoy-Potter name now. Closed adoption is the way this is playing out. Keep your kid in a leash and we should be just fine.”


	32. Depressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I start school on the 26th! Oh me oh my. It’s got me wanting to write everyone’s favorite soulmates in a high school setting, so be prepared for a muggle AU after this fic wraps up (which will probably be soon). TW for mentions of drug use. Also, wow, 2007 was a weird year.

**Chapter 32: Depressing**

   Narcissa had always wanted a daughter.

   The hairbrush in her right hand was framed in pearls and adorned in diamonds. It had been a wedding present from her mother-in-law at Narcissa’s wedding that she had treasured as their approval of her marriage to their Perfect and Infallible son Lucius.

   She ran the brush through Grace’s hair, the sharp bristles combing through knots that had appeared after Narcissa had come to Draco and Harry’s door unannounced just moments before. After a surprisingly enjoyable dinner with Grace the two had gone to sleep and gone off to work in the morning like every other normal day (aside from Harry announcing his departure at the end of the day), leaving Grace to her own devices.

   Nobody except for Narcissa had known she would be there that day but Grace had still opened the door when she knocked. It all seemed rather innocent, the soon-to-be grandmother wanting to have a little girl time, but the second Grace arrived back at the Manor she knew it was far from.

   “You’re glowing,” Narcissa said as she made eye contact with Grace in the vanity mirror.

   “Er, thanks.”

   There was something ever so vaguely threatening about Narcissa grooming Grace like a prized pet. “I know you’re wondering why I brought you here. Dear, I truly am sorry for the trauma you’ve been in,” she said in that soothing voice of hers. “But I’m afraid motherhood is full of trauma. It’s all going to be over soon.”

   “Are you going to force me into labor or something?” Grace asked stiffly. “Because really, I promise I’m not going to back out on giving you the kid and it can definitely come on its own—“

   “No, no, that’s not what you’re here for. Don’t be ridiculous.”

   Grace nodded. She winced when Narcissa dragged the brush through a particularly thick knot. “Ow.”

   “What I need,” Narcissa clarified. She picked her words with the utmost caution. “Is for you to tie up one teensy loose end.” Narcissa put the brush down on the vanity and began braiding her hair. She used to do it for her sisters and her dorm mates all the time, and they all told her she should open up a salon. She liked to fantasize about that sometimes, having a bustling small business with loyal customers.

   “Which loose end would that be?” the younger woman asked. She looked at Narcissa in the eye using the mirror in front of them. She didn’t really want to look at her fat, bloated self anyway.

  “Your ex. The father of the baby. Oh, don’t look so terrified dear, you’ll get wrinkles and have to use glamour potions in your old age. It’s a hassle. Anyway, I spoke with his mother and she does not intend to try and take custody away from Draco and Harry. Without her I doubt her lug of a son could pose any threat to us, but to be safe we’re going to reaffirm the baby will be better off without him. We’ll have him over for a little chat, his mother will detail the school she’s sending her son to instead of Hogwarts so you will have a stress-free last year, and then… Well. The last bit is a surprise on my part, but I’m really not worried. I think.”

   If all didn’t go as planned, Remus and Sirius were only an owl away. Narcissa would probably owl them if all went as planned, too. What she was thinking of doing would make Lucius furious.

   First, she had to take care of the baby matters. Her son’s happiness always came first.

   “Um.” Grace was officially lost. She went with the flow of insanity anyway on the ‘Zeke attending another school’ bit. Not seeing his mug in class for an entire year would be a relief. “Sure.”

   “Wonderful.”

   Narcissa entwined the three sections of hair with a renewed sense of confidence. Three generations—Narcissa, Grace, Lily—of women were in one room to bring peace around in the strangest, most fractured family any of them had encountered. If Narcissa wasn’t so busy being a momma bear in defense of her cub, she would have felt sorry for Zeke.

   “Let’s go.” Narcissa secured a Slytherin-green ribbon around the end of the braid.

   “Let’s.”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   Harry was a free man. If he possessed Draco’s lack of a verbal filter, he would have asked Sirius if he felt this way after he escaped from Azkaban.

   “Want to know something?” Sirius asked as he dug into the bowl of popcorn in between them.

   “Sure,” said Harry. His fingers were all buttery, but Sirius could care less. He invited Harry to completely trash the house, to pour butter all over the floors and punch out the windows if it made him feel any better. Sirius would clean it up with his family’s money.

   Remus was out tutoring students and Olivia was visiting with Alex, so Sirius had invited his godson over to give him some long-overdue attention and love. “I always knew you’d quit being an Auror someday.”

   “Oh, you _knew_?”

   “Of course I did,” Sirius announced proudly as a fight scene in one of those muggle movies about short people and golden rings rose to a bloody crescendo. “I know everything. It’s a science fact, Harry.” Sirius swallowed his mouthful of popcorn. “I know more than anyone—excepting your wife, I guess—about you. You did not want to be in the center of a war, Harry. You never did. It was all you knew and I always thought the Auror department was a transition out of that. For once, I actually held my tongue until it was over.”

   Harry sighed and rested his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “Thank you, then,” he murmured. “I think it was something I needed to do. The Academy training was rough, but now… I don’t know. It feels worth it, somehow.” He wasn’t making much sense, but Harry never had to explain himself to Sirius. Sirius just took things as they were.

   “Good.”

   “But now…”

   “Hey, no ‘now’ bullshit,” Sirius told him lovingly, petting his hair like Harry was the dog in the room. “How the hell old am I? Actually, don’t answer that. It’s fucking depressing. What I am trying to say is that I break curses sometimes, other times I garden, other times I cause public distress. I do things that I like, and I don’t worry about finding your nuclear family career crap. People are always defining themselves with jobs and you’re so much better than that, Harry. You’re better than them.”

   Harry snorted. “I’m happy I managed to turn out this humble with you around.”

   “Doesn’t matter.” Sirius bumped their heads together. “You’re the best.” He also thought the same of Remus, Olivia, and Harry’s parents, but the title of ‘the best’ still applied.

   “I’m not that great at gardening,” Harry mused aloud. “Hm. What am I good at?”

   “You’d make a fantastic professor. I know fantastic professors when I see them,” Sirius said, thinking of Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus. Wait—time to get back to Harry. “And you were an ace seeker back in school.”

   With a shrug, Harry tried his best to be humble once more. “So was Draco; doesn’t mean we should become Quidditch stars.”

   “That would be rather scandalous. How would you two ever get on in the locker rooms without snogging?”

   “We wouldn’t,” Harry sighed contentedly.

   “Okay, different angle. What is your favorite part of every day? Or what has been your favorite activity?” Sirius tried. He felt like Minerva when she tried to give him counseling on what kind of career path to pursue. Poor McGonagall sat in that chair for hours staring at Sirius, reading off a list of options from ‘Healer’ to ‘Small Business Owner’ trying to make them sound appealing to a smarmy, rebellious gayboy with a penchant for anger. Sirius had ‘Circus Performer’ and ‘Rogue Pirate’ in mind, but apparently those ‘aren’t real jobs’.

   Harry made a face. “Being with Draco,” he admitted. “Maybe I could just become a prostitute and have him pay me by the hour.”

   “Sounds like a fool-proof plan.”

   “Okay, but seriously,” Harry began again before realizing he’d said The Word.

   “Yes, I am very Sirius-ly, thank you for noticing,” he boasted loudly and proudly. Sirius never passed up an opportunity to crack a joke about his ridiculous pureblood name.

   Harry just sort of groaned.

   “Let me have my fun,” Sirius whined.

   “When don’t I?”

   “That time I was high in the hospital and Draco made me stop playing with the kids.”

   Harry took his head off of Sirius’ shoulder so he could give the older man a playful shove. “You are a hippie. I never thought I’d say it, but Lucius was right.”

   “Hey!” Sirius laughed, wrapping an arm around Harry to drag him back into a fatherly sort of cuddling. After all, they’d both grown up without any of that physical affection and intended to make up for that. “I was not the first one to bring Mary Jane to Marauder nights out. That was James.”

   “ _What_?”

   “He knew a guy who could get his hands on the stuff. James gave me a bag every birthday and we passed it around,” Sirius recalled fondly.

   Harry stared at him, horrified. Someone should have told him this at some point!

   Seeing how he’d shocked and terrified Harry’s innocent ears, Sirius patted him on the back. “He quit when he finally got with Lily—she hated the smell—but Remus and I had made quite a habit out of it all on our own.”

   “Was my mum the only sensible person around?”

   “Yes, actually.”

   “Merlin’s pants.”

   Sirius shrugged. “Girls develop faster than boys. Maybe when I’m sixty I’ll have the maturity level Lily Potter had at twenty. That seems about right.”

   “Then thank Merlin I’m having a daughter,” Harry laughed. Sirius’ logic was fanciful and made Harry smile.

   The mention of Lily the Second sent Sirius’ arms all the way around Harry so he could give him a crushing hug. “Look at you. Baby having a baby! I love you, Harry. I’m so damn proud of you and you know your parents are too.”

   “Thanks,” Harry said into Sirius’ shirt, relaxing considerably.

   Padfoot took a deep breath in before finally letting Harry out of the vice-grip of love. It felt like yesterday that Harry was a squirming little baby in his arms.

_“Oi, don’t kill him while we’re out,” James ordered with a mischievous smile. “He better be just as cute as I left him when we get back.” For the first time since his wedding, James had dressrobes on. Married people apparently had to keep up a classy dating life, too._

_Lily in her little black dress looked considerably out of James’ league even with all that gussying up, but she loved him all the same. “Bye-bye,” she cooed at the little boy in Sirius’ arms before kissing his forehead, unmarked by any scar. “If he gets too fussy don’t hesitate to owl us.”_

_“You two need to go have fun,” Remus said. “Get the hell out of here.”_

_“No fucking cursing in front of the goddamn baby,” James reminded them as he and Lily headed out the door holding hands. “Daddy loves you, Harry!”_

_When Sirius and Remus finally got the two out of their damned house (the one before all of those safe places tucked in muggle corners so that nobody could find them and their precious child), they were free to wander in the Potter residence with its tiny heir._

_“He’s so adorable,” Sirius whispered, gently rocking him up and down in his arms. “We’re the luckiest godfathers in the world.”_

_Remus nudged their cheeks together so they could stare lovingly down at the miniature human being their two best friends had made. “He has Lily’s eyes.”_

_“Here.” Sirius offered Remus a turn at holding Harry, which scared Remus to his core. What if he dropped the baby? What if the baby hated him?_

_“Oh,” he let out, surprised when Harry made a joyful sort of gurgling noise when he saw Remus’ face. It made him feel a bit like crying._

_“You’re going to be an amazing father when we have babies, Remus.”_

“And then you proceeded to throw up all over Moony’s favorite sweater,” Sirius informed Harry.

   It had taken them at least three cycles in the washer to get the cable-knit top back to wearable condition, but neither of them loved Harry any less for it.

   “You’re going to be a great father, too.” Sirius was quieter, almost pensieve when he said that. He and James were supposed to raise their children together and tease one another about becoming grandparents and make each other crazy. This was markedly more somber.

   “Thank you,” Harry murmured for a second time. “Thank you.”

   Sirius hugged him again before turning into Padfoot so he could jump all over Harry to be pet. Sirius barked and licked his face. Sure, it was weird, but Harry rubbed Padfoot behind the ears anyway. No family was perfect, but this makeshift one with Sirius was phenomenal. Harry would get more baby stories that he couldn’t remember out Sirius later.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “I’m angry that she didn’t tell me she’d decided on adoption!” Zeke argued.

   “So you’re going to go on a crusade for semantics?” Narcissa asked calmly as the house elves scampered back to the kitchen. Grace was shoveling down the cinnamon buns they made for her, and while it was beyond against her moral code to accept the servitude of another race, she was really hungry and really pregnant.

   “No,” Zeke huffed. “I just—I mean, she didn’t tell me!” His mother tried to silence him with a hand on his shoulder. “Stop it!”

   The two lawyers beside Grace put a packet down in front of the arguing son and parent. “Sign your parental rights away,” the taller one offered. “Or have us take them away from you in a messy court battle.”

   The scared father-to-be was backed into a corner. “Fuck a court battle. Mum, stop touching me! I’m going to say what I want to. And do you know what? I’m not just mad that she lied to me.”

   “Then pray tell,” Grace snarked. “What else is my fault?”

   “It’s not your fault,” he quipped back before softening. “The kid isn’t, and the way you are isn’t your fault.”

   Out of instinct, Narcissa put a protective hand over Grace’s. “What are you trying to say?” the matriarch demanded.

   “I’m saying that I do care about her. Grace, I think you’re someone who deserves to have a life. I don’t want to saddle you with a kid, okay? You’re just so… You’re so angry,” he finally admitted with a  rush of air. “You’re a wonderful girl, but you’re also the angriest girl I’ve ever met. That anger isn’t _healthy_ , okay? You were mad at the world for things you couldn’t change even before this pregnancy.”

   “And having a kid would soften me up?” Grace scowled, entirely disgusted with what she was hearing.

   “No! It’s not that! I promise it’s not that, okay? I think I’m not getting my point across well.”

   “You aren’t,” Narcissa nodded sagely.

   Zeke paused to lean back in the opulent chair of Narcissa’s parlor. He chose his next words carefully. “I think maybe part of that anger is that you lost your mum so early.” Grace froze up, breath catching in her throat. “And I don’t know how it could affect this kid to never know their biological parents. It’s not because Draco and Harry are gay, it’s not because I want to have us both stop our lives and be teen parents, and it’s definitely not because I ‘hate you’. I don’t hate you, Grace. I want the best for this kid and this is me stepping up.”

   “So you clearly have different ideas of what’s best for the baby—“ Narcissa tried to mediate before Grace jumped in.

   “Fuck you, ‘I’m angry’. How could I not be angry?” she demanded. “One out of every three women will be raped in her life. Hate crimes happen every day, and politicians try and take the rights of the oppressed away. Open your eyes, Zeke! Look all around you! Look at the poverty, look at the disease, and look at the way people wage war on one another! People keep dying, and my mother and father were just bricks in the wall.

   “I’m angry because people don’t understand how to be courteous and kind and respectful in daily conversation. I’m angry when pompous assholes who think they’re intellectuals play ‘devil’s advocate’ in arguments about human rights just to fuck with people. I’m angry because only one out of every nine producers of what’s on television is a woman! Britain is in Afghanistan, America is in Iraq, North Korea is probably about to do something stupid, and what the fuck is the UN doing? Nothing. Fucking nothing, just like the Rwandan genocide.”

   “Shit, Grace. None of that even involves you. You’re not in the army or in Rwanda.”

   Grace could care less. “It involved _people_. If you close your eyes, you can hear them all sometimes. You can see the men and women being trafficked into the sex trade in Thailand, you can smell the gunpowder on the hands of the shooter from Virginia Tech, and you can feel the heat around you like you’re in one of those riots in Venezuela against their dictator. They’re people, Zeke.”

   “They’re people,” she pressed on before standing up. Her ankles were weak, but she felt possessed. “And do you know what? That’s worth being angry over. You want to blame it all on Voldemort murdering my parents? You’re leaving everything else out! Don’t you dare tell me I’m fucked up because my Aunt and Uncle raised me when the world around me was full of shit to begin with.”

   Narcissa had never been so inspired. This spitfire teenage girl reminded her of the anger she sometimes felt, the rage that bubbled up when she read about how people were still fighting to reverse the legalization of same-sex marriage laws. They were trying to force her baby into a divorce from the man he loved and will always love. They called her son—her pride and joy—unnatural and wrong and unfit for this world.

   “I have to go get something,” Narcissa said quickly, tossing her original plan of subtlety to the side in favor of making a statement. She got up from the parlor and practically ran to the kitchen.

   Grace went on without her. “And if you think that growing up with your biological parents in your life is always healthy, take a good fucking look at your own situation. You think I turned out bad because I didn’t grow up with my parents? Look at what happened when you grew up with yours.”

   Mrs. Bowen’s jaw promptly connected with the floor.

   “How—“ she stuttered. “How, how dare you! You—you foul child! How _dare_ —“

   “Back!” Narcissa announced in an uncouth way that would make her pureblood mother roll over in her grave. In one hand, she held a plate with two massive biscuits on top. “Here, Anne. Have a biscuit.”

   The plate landed on the parlor table with a distinct thud. Grace sat down, about ninety percent sure that Narcissa had poisoned the wheat-y treats. They looked like Narcissa had baked them herself, misshapen and malformed and definitely on the burnt side.

   Just as Narcissa had planned, Anne Bowen called for her house elf. “Waldy!” she snapped as he rushed to her side, leaving a concerned Gerda in the parlor door. “We’re leaving. This harpy can give the baby to whoever she wants. Zeke, come along.”

   “Sorry—“ he tried before his mother grabbed him by the ear again.

   “Wait!” Narcissa still had some power over the younger woman, and intended to use it for the greater good. “Don’t forget the biscuit. As a peace offering. After all, once Zeke signs those papers, you’ll never have to see us again. I don’t want any bad blood between our families.”

   A Malfoy offering Anne a chance at climbing up the social ladder was irresistible. “Sign, then.” She pushed her son forward and snatched up the biscuit. Upon closer inspection, it really was rather inedible. She handed it to the house elf so it would be out of her sight.

   Zeke knew when he was beaten. He picked up the quill and looked to Grace. “And you’re sure this is what you want for our kid?”

   “I’m sure it’s what I want for Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter, heiress to a fortune you could only dream of and daughter to two men who deserve your respect,” she answered, notably calmer.

   He nodded and looked around the room before putting quill to parchment.

   As the Bagley sisters swooped in to guide him through the initialing and signing, Narcissa handed the other biscuit to Gerda. “Here, love.”

   Love? Since when did she call her slave ‘love’?

   “And I do so hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us. We were wrong.”

   “Wrong…?” Gerda held the biscuit, fascinated. “Mistress?”

   “There.” The shorter lawyer grabbed the filled-out packet that relinquished Zeke’s parental rights and sent it off to her office. Now nobody in the room could reach it to change things.

   “Open it,” Narcissa encouraged.

   Waldy was actually the first to desecrate his biscuit. It was dry, cracked, and made crumbs spill all over the floor when he pried the biscuit open. He expected blueberries or maybe a cheese filling.

   Waldy the house elf got so much more than that.

   “A headband,” he whispered. “A headband cooked into a biscuit. That… Madam, that is a choking hazard for the children.”

   Gerda tore open her biscuit only seconds after. “It is… It is also a headband?”

   “No,” Narcissa said calmly, her bright grey eyes sparkling with mischief. “It is clothing.”

   She’d never seen two elves run to each other so quickly to apparate away.


	33. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has started for me. The end is nigh. At least I’m a senior now! To any college administrators who have found this fanfiction and are wary of accepting me into your lovely school… I could be in a street gang or a petty thief. That would be way worse than being a sexual freak.  
> Anyway ack I know this chapter is short but I’m really losing steam on this fic. I think the next chapter is going to be a time skip to the birth (!!!!) and then a final time skip to a scene with Lily and her two brothers that Drarry is so totally having.

**Chapter 33: Lessons**

“What if we took a shot for every time Harry got that look in his eyes?” Pansy asked excitedly. The baby shower was an absolute hit, and all of their friends had gotten past the hilarious and raunchy party games to the dessert of three dozen gourmet-made cupcakes. They were chocolate icing, chocolate cake, and filled with a surprise color of the rainbow on the inside.

   The look in his eyes Pansy was referring to had been the topic of conversation in the Malfoy-Potter parlor, decked out in balloons, streamers, and themed plate sets. “So sue me for being excited,” Harry laughed before sipping out of his wine glass.

   “Oh, like I would put a lawsuit against someone under the watchful six eyes of the Bagley sisters.”

   “Pansy, they do not have secret eyes,” Draco sighed. “That was just something you made up when we were kids because they scared you.”

   “Have you ever seen either of them shirtless?” Pansy demanded.

   Harry’s face scrunched up. “Maybe Draco did, and that’s why he’s gay now.”

   “The both of you are mental,” Draco laughed and slung his arm around Harry. They were sitting on his favorite couch in the parlor, the one that he had almost hexed Harry for dropping on its side when they moved in. “I have not seen them topless, but who has a third eye on their boobs anyway? The only rational place to put a third eye is on the back of your neck, your ankle, or your forehead.”

   Hermione snorted at the use of the word ‘rational’. Draco was amusing, if anything. It was her first time drinking in nine months and she had arrived with the intention of merrymaking and celebration of Harry and Draco’s baby. The baby momma may have been upstairs taking a nap—claiming she was tired when everyone arrived, dragging her tightly braided hair out of a green ribbon—but Draco never missed a chance to party.

   “Tut, tut. So insensitive, Draco. Not everyone gets to choose the locations of their hidden extra eyes,” Maggie teased, flicking his knee.

   “This is gruesome talk for a baby shower.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Quick, Ronald, say something off-topic and senseless.”

   “Why am I the one you alwafys go tcho for shenshelessness?” Ron questioned with a mouth full of cupcake.

   “Fair point. Greg?” Draco looked to him expectantly.

   Gregory Goyle was double-fisting a couple of cupcakes and resented the intrusion on his current confectionary heaven. “I’m sending this one over to Blaise.”

   “Ginny?” Blaise offered.

   Finally, Ginny Weasley accepted the responsibility of coming up with a new topic of conversation. “How about we make fun of Draco and Harry some more?” she suggested. Luckily, Theo picked right up on that.

   “There are so many angles I could pick to tease them about,” Theo said dreamily into his glass of wine. “How spoiled rotten their daughter will be, how they’re getting old, how their taste in music will probably pause and they’ll never understand the fresh beats Lily listens to… Hm. I think I’m going to go with: ‘your sex life will be miserable until she’s potty-trained and doesn’t cry all night long.”

   “Draco changing diapers,” Colin sneered. “Now that’s a thought.”

   “That’s Harry’s job,” Draco declared.

   “No way. That’s all you, sweetheart.”

   “Darling,” Draco replied through clenched teeth for dramatic effect. “You’re going to be the one watching our precious angel during the day, so I imagine that responsibility will be all yours.”

   “Honey, don’t fuck with me. I’ll save that job until the second you come home,” Harry grinned.

   Draco rolled his eyes. “Remus and Sirius have it right. We should get the kids after they know how to manage their own bodily functions.”

   “Too late,” Ginny grinned. She always tried to sneak out of babysitting duty for Ron and Hermione’s babies since she drew the line at changing nappies. “At least what Blaise and I bought for you will help.”

   “None of you can beat what I got them,” Pansy declared proudly. She’d spent way too much on it, as usual.

   “I accept your challenge,” Theo said with crossed arms. “Because you’re going to be completely wowed by what we got them. You may cry, you may tear your hair out in jealousy, but it is guaranteed you will feel inadequate in comparison.”

   Draco sat back and drank in the sight of his friends clamoring for his approval. It was a complete power trip, the sort that he loved. It wasn’t Draco’s fault he measured how much people cared for him in the gifts he received from people, it was how he was raised. “Then let’s compare them,” he said imperiously, like a Roman king waving his hand at gladiators in the lion pit to begin the fight.

   “Ours first,” Ron insisted. He wanted the bar set high since Molly had helped pick this one out.

   Harry turned to the pile of gifts with a giddy grin. “This is just like Christmas. Hermione, which one is yours?”

   “The one with the dancing unicorns,” she told the expectant couple with a smile.

   “You can open this one,” Draco murmured into Harry’s shoulder when he saw the childish shimmer in his eyes.

   Harry ripping apart gifts was a beautiful and singularly innocent sight. All of those years he’d watched Dudders ravage the brightly-wrapped spoils of youth had instilled not only a jealousy in him, but a reverence for the holiday. Only those ‘worthy’ of gifts got to smile. Draco always made him feel worthy, always made him feel wanted.

   Every year he’d wrap Harry’s presents in festive ribbons, adorn them with golden trim, and put Harry on his lap when it came time to open them. Sure, there were some sleazy jokes about whether he’d been ‘naughty’ or ‘nice’, but for the most part Draco just kissed his face and held Harry tight.

   It made Christmas Harry’s favorite holiday all over again.

   “Hm.” Harry tore into the pastel green wrapping, accidently decapitating a unicorn in the process. Oh well. “Oh!”

   “What is it?” Draco leaned over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the name.

   “It’s all the books we wanted,” Harry told his husband with a smile. “Goodnight Moon, Velveteen Rabbit, Tales of Beetle the Bard…” Maybe one day he’d tell little Lily what the Tale of the Three Brothers did for her papa in the war, but that was a story he’d save for when she was old enough to understand what a war was.

   “Every girl should have a library,” Hermione told them both with a glint in her eye. Lily could be the brightest witch of her age, too.

   Draco started flipping through the fantastic drawings of fantasy worlds in the books. The Rainbow Fish, Tango Makes Three, When Kathy Is Keith… Hermione must have raided a gay parenting center. “Thank you,” he said genuinely. All he could think of was Ron carrying a stack of picture books through a store while Hermione piled more and more onto him.

   “Anything for our goddaughter,” Ron beamed. It must have been nice being so simple; not leading a relationship but following a brilliant woman and all of her brilliant decisions.

   Harry took a deep breath. Everyone around him was there for Draco and him. “You guys are the greatest.”

   “Let’s open more,” Draco suggested. He would be as enamored as Harry once they got all the gifts open. “Who’s next?”

   The room immediately filled with the clambering of voices, all eager to make Draco and Harry the most well-prepared couple to ever receive a child.

   Upstairs, the carrier of their child was desperately trying to sleep.

   She’d undone her braid in her vanity mirror—well, it wasn’t really her vanity, but there was one in her room—and her hair was a kinky and curly mess. The three sections of the braid had been so tightly knit together that when they were set free it was a regular jungle.

   It hadn’t occurred to Grace that while Narcissa was braiding her hair that three generations of women were in that room. A grandmother, a mother, and a daughter were there even though one couldn’t speak.

   The whole ordeal would have made Grace feel proud in the feminine solidarity, but the baby wasn’t planned. Grace was giving her up after this and would never see her again except in gossip columns and news about Draco and Harry.

   She wanted to give the baby up, obviously. There was no way in hell she was backing out. She just… Well, she never expected to feel a sense of belonging in a line of heritage, a line of Malfoy women. It was nice.

   She flipped over in the bed (Merlin her stomach was big) to try and find a comfortable sleeping position. If anything, she would enjoy the silken sheets until she had to go.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “It tastes…” Lucius searched for the right word. He didn’t want to insult his own cooking, but for once Lucius Malfoy had really cocked up miserably. “Interesting.”

   The knowing look in Sirius’ eyes was starting to grate on Lucius, but he knew better than to start a fight over eye contact with a madman. He’d save their eventual fight for something more substantial.

   “You’ll get the hang of it,” Remus offered. The pasta Lucius had cooked was terribly overdone and the sauce was burnt around the edges, but it was edible. That was a start.

   “I wouldn’t have to get the hang of it if my wife hadn’t _dismissed_ Gerda,” Lucius grumbled. Narcissa pointedly ignored him.

   Sirius gave Narcissa a hardy and friendly clap on the back. She wasn’t used to that level of affectionate roughness and the shock in her eyes showed it. “I’m proud of you, Cissy,” Sirius declared before giving her a kiss on the top of her head. It was refreshing to have relatives he liked. “You did the right thing and I believe I’ve converted you to my communist homosexual ways.”

   Narcissa bit back a smile.

   “Before you know it you’ll be listening to muggle music and living in a commune.” At least Sirius hoped that was true. It would drive Lucius up the wall. “Anyway, that’s pasta. Experience will make you better at it. Ready for your next lesson?”

   Narrowing his eyes, Lucius looked to his cousin-in-law. “Isn’t your husband supposed to be the professor here?”

   “Moony would have failed sixth year potions if it wasn’t for me. The poor bastard can’t stir and chop for his life, which I find rather endearing and annoying all at once,” Sirius gushed. Remus had taken his seat at the Malfoy Manor kitchen table and was much more interested in watching the madness unfold than being a part of it.

   “Aw,” Remus cooed. “You’re annoying, too.”

   Narcissa did something that almost never failed with her husband. She stroked his ego. “Darling, you received exceptional marks in potions classes and you’re still talented with a cauldron,” she said. “I think this isn’t so different from potions, dear.”

   Lucius made a grumbling noise, grouchy as ever. This little cooking session with the Lupins felt more like a forced and juvenile double-date between four slightly unwilling parties.

   “On to your next lesson,” Sirius continued as if nothing had happened. “Baking! You’re going to make a chocolate cake.” Remus visibly salivated. Padfoot knew how to rev up a chocoholic and would use his skills when he pleased. “This is much more like potions, so you two Slytherins will hopefully get this without a setback.”

   The ‘setbacks’ from previous ventures involved Lucius actually setting a steak on fire, but Sirius was sure that was the worst of it.

   “Alright. We need flour, eggs, cocoa, sugar, olive oil, some salt…”

   Narcissa cocked her head to the side. “Where do you get that from?”

   “…What.”

   “What?” she echoed. “I haven’t been in the pantry since… Well. After the war we remodeled it, so I suppose I had to go in it then…”

   “That was seven years ago,” Remus reminded Narcissa.

   To be that rich was terrifying to him. Sure, Remus had grown up lower middle class so he was never destitute, but this was extravagance that felt horribly wrong. How could someone not go into their pantry for seven years? How could they really believe themselves entitled to a small, helpless creature that would go into their pantry instead?

   “I think I’m having Vietnam flashbacks,” Sirius said flatly, referring to his childhood as a pointless war. “You two are so rich you probably think these floors polish themselves.”

   Lucius let out a long, irritated hiss. He’d almost forgotten they would have to do that on their own, too. He loved his wife, but menial labor was entirely below him. “We’ll hire a maid for that,” he decided for the couple.

   Remus shook his head, not really sure what he’d expected the answer to be, but still disappointed.

   Unlike his husband, Sirius expressed that emotion loudly. “Oh, come on! Scrubbing builds character, Lucius,” Sirius insisted before conjuring a bucket of soapy water and a brush. “How many floors does this place have? Six? And how many rooms per floor? I bet you could do it with magic in a day without even having to get on your precious knees and stare into the face of grime.” Sirius spent a lot of his time on his knees, so he really didn’t mind doing the chore without magic.

   “I think I remember some cleaning spells from Hogwarts,” Narcissa tried, nudging Lucius to encourage him.

   Unfortunately, not all of the nudges in the world could bring Lucius to lower his pride. “No.” He crossed his arms over his chest like a spoiled child.

  Before Sirius could berate his cousin-in-law for being a priss, Remus stepped in.

   “Fine,” he shrugged. “You never have to learn cleaning spells with a maid. With a Manor like this, though… You’re going to need more than one. A team you’ll entrust with the care of every artifact, book, piece of jewelry, furniture item, and personal detail you two ever mention in front of them. When Harry and Draco come over you’d probably have to pay them extra to keep quiet about the Golden Couple.”

   Sirius grinned. Oh, his Moony was one sneaky bastard.

   Lucius was immediately unsettled. “Well.” The twat he hired to find the resurrection stone for Harry and Draco’s wedding had blabbed to the press in spite of the heavy sum of gold Lucius gave him.

   “And what about when Lily comes over? You’ll just summon the maid whenever Draco and Harry breeze by? You remember what having a baby was like, Narcissa,” Remus murmured knowingly.

   Oh, Draco had been such a mess. Food was everywhere, he would track mud from the gardens into the house, and Draco Malfoy had even gotten finger-paint in his precious hair once. It took three washes to get the blue out.

   “They make a fair point,” Narcissa told her husband gently.

   Lucius let out a second hiss. This one was longer and marginally more annoyed. He let it settle in the kitchen before turning to Sirius.

   Sirius was the kid in the year below him who was a bloodtraitor disgrace back in school. His hair was never combed and his robes were constantly dirty, with James or Remus or Peter constantly at his side. Lucius never thought he’d be the one learning from the crazy son of Walburga, the one she had disowned, but there they were.

   If Lucius could properly articulate his feelings then not only would most of his problems be solved, but he would say something along the lines of ‘I’m glad we’re family, you fucking freaks’. “Let’s just start with the cake,” was what came out instead.

   “Sure thing.” Sirius hadn’t expected to tolerate the snobby, snuck-up pureblood either.

   Taking a page from Moony’s book, he got the cocoa in the spirit that there was no tension that couldn’t be eased with chocolate.


	34. Tiebreaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, kids! We are at the close here of this story, and I hope you liked it as much as you liked the first. Your reviews are the sweetest damned things.

**Chapter 34: Tiebreaker**

   “It’s coming! Holy shit! I think—Draco! Harry! Somebody! Get over here! I think my water just broke!”

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “This is it,” Lily told her brother with a predatory grin. The lights from the floating candles shone down on the sorting ceremony.

   “There’s no way in hell Hunter is a Slytherin,” Aiden answered. “Me and Papa are gonna win this one.”

   Under the sorting hat sat Hunter Matthew Malfoy-Potter, his eyes darting around the room so he could avoid the stares.

   Being the children of famous war-veteran poofs came with its downsides Hunter supposed as the bottom of his shoes tapped the floor where said poofs had stood before him. Daddy and Papa. Draco and Harry.

   “You two are sick,” Hugo laughed back at Hunter’s sibling from a safe viewing distance.

   “You come from a family with an even number of kids,” Aiden told Hugo Weasley—three years his senior—as if Aiden knew it all. That was a typical Gryffindor trait, though. “Rose and you got into different houses. It’s all equal and shit. With Lily here being a Slytherin and me being in the best house in the school we need a tiebreaker.”

   Lily rolled her eyes and bumped her hips against Aiden’s side. He laughed, retaliating with a hip knock right back.

   In a sort of quiet admiration, Hugo watched them and reminisced about his own sister. Rosie was off to University and Remus had retired as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher when Olivia went to University. University, University, University. That’s all anybody could talk about.

   His mother gently pushed him towards an academic life while his father aggressively pushed him to pursue his Quidditch skill. Hugo didn’t really like either option, to be honest. He wished he could be like Lily and know what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

   As evidence by her stellar first evening self-made green empire waisted dress, Miss Lily Malfoy-Potter had a passion for fashion. She learned how to sew as a little girl and had gotten free tickets to every Fashion Week and runway show in the world. Having the daughter of celebrity royalty at your event was one way to guarantee a huge turnout, after all.

   People went crazy when she actually started making outfits, and they sold for extravagant amounts of money. They praised her eye for drama and glamour and her draping skills.

   Public adoration, great family, lots of galleons… Lily basically got everything she wanted.

   Hugo supposed he could always bum a job off of her as her personal assistant or something. He hoped he could, anyway. For some reason, he really wanted to be around Lily.

   “I’m surprised your dads didn’t show up with a magic camera to capture the moment,” Hugo said simply so he would get out of his own head.

   “They’re probably hanging in the rafters,” Eric half-joked and half-hoped, watching the sorting hat whisper to itself. For his fourth year, Eric had dyed his hair a shockingly bright purple.

  Eric Sinclair and Aiden were attached at the hip ever since they met in first year. Born into a conservative family, Eric was a rebellious gay kid who never had a chance until he met his new friend from wizarding school’s parents. Draco and Harry had for all intents and purposes become his replacement parents.

   This was the first summer he’d spent with the Malfoy-Potter family, returning to school with a renewed confidence.

   Aiden snickered. Eric was hilarious. Eric was so cool. Eric had such nice hair.

   Not in gay way! No, his dads were the gay ones. He liked women. All sorts of women. Lots of women who flirted with him across the tables in the Great Hall. Aiden wasn’t gay. He so totally wasn’t gay because he was straight because his parents were gay. Right?

   He shook his head and looked away from the way Eric’s fluorescent hair looked resting against his pale skin, like a purple mist sweeping across him and forever cloaking him.

   Eric would change it to a deep sea blue halfway through that year and Aiden would drown in it.

   “Why is it taking so long?” he asked after a moment.

   Lily had seen this before. “It means the hat is having a hard time sorting him. Poor thing.” Hunter was more sensitive than most.

   Only in books had Hunter read about embarrassment like this. The whole room—first years, seventh years, _professors_ —was fixated on him. “I don’t care which house,” he said under his breath to the hat. “Just put me in one.”

   “Oh, but think of the possibilities,” the old leather hat marveled. “In Slytherin you may find a path to greatness as your sister and your father did. Or, you may take the route of your other father and your elder brother. Heritage does matter in these decisions, but…”

   “But?” Hunter’s face was turning as red as Hugo Weasley’s hair. It was a sharp contrast to his own dirty blonde hair.

   “But you’re not like them.”

   “I am so!” he defended immediately in a hushed tone.

   The hat laughed above him, ruffling his hair. “You are, but you’re not. You have their curiosity and their inner strength, but you prefer a quieter life.”

   Next to the struggling boy on his chair, Minerva shifted on her feet with a sense of patience. She’d been stuck between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for a solid five minutes when she was sorted and her hair was still red.

   “Who’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” Hugo asked when he saw the woman sitting in her high-back chair.

   “Dunno. Some expert in breaking home protection wards from the Ministry,” Aiden said. He’d picked up that much gossip on the train ride over. “Not sure what her name is, though.”

   “Something with a ‘B’,” Eric recalled from his conversation with a third year Christina Creevey. “Burning… Burden… Something.”

   “ _Ravenclaw_!” the hat announced with his usual grand air about himself.

   “ _What?_ ” Lily gasped. According to the Malfoy-Potter family, there were only two houses in the old Scottish castle. Her brother’s response was just to open his mouth in indignation.

   Hugo was wildly amused. “Serves you both right.”

   “The response to the owl back home should be framed,” Eric suggested. “That way you can always capture the beauty of the moment where Ravenclaw changed the course of history.”

   Aiden shook his head. “No. Unacceptable. Lily, owl our dads. They need to adopt another kid to break the tie. I mean, the world has to know whether Gryffindor or Slytherin is the better house in the end. This is serious science stuff.”

   “Wow, that sounds so important,” she teased as she watched her littlest brother be accepted into a flock of blue robes and smiling faces.

   “It is!” Aiden argued even though he knew it was entirely futile. Once Lily made up her mind about something it was Mission Impossible trying to change it.

   The next witch, a dark-skinned girl with a long braid trailing down her back, was quickly sorted into Slytherin and the ceremony continued without further ado.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “Push!” Harry told Grace like he’d seen on telly.

   Propped up on about a small army of pillows, Grace squeezed his hand even tighter in an attempt to disrupt his circulatory system. She really, really did not want to take orders right now. “ _You_ push!” she countered, officially out of witty or snappy things to say while giving birth.

   “You push!” she yelled again, head tipping back as she entered her fifth hour of labor. “You do it!”

   “Uh.” Harry couldn’t really take that responsibility into his hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll push.” He cast a helpless look to Draco on the other side of the hospital bed. Alas, he was too busy actually delivering their bundle of joy to be preoccupied with Harry’s concerns.

   “I mean it!” she growled. “I swear to fucking Merlin’s fucking balls I fucking mean it.” Grace deteriorated as time went on in every sense of the word, her sentences growing more profane and shorter still.

   “Okay! Okay, uh, I’m pushing!” Harry, The Boy Who Lived, told her.

   Grace let out a frustrated cry.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

   “It could be worse,” Lily reminded Aiden. “He could be in Hufflepuff.”

   The dark-haired boy snorted. “Yeah, that’s true. Daddy would have a conniption.”

   “When isn’t daddy having a conniption?” she reminisced lovingly.

   “Good point.”

   “You and your boyfriend going to head up to Gryffindor tower?” she asked. Lily figured she would at least talk with Hunter first, give him the big sister kisses and the whole embarrassment spiel in front of his cool new friends.

   Aiden turned bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

   “Sure.” Lily gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. She would have to pass Hunter on his way up to the Ravenclaw commonroom anyway while she journeyed down into the dungeons.

   Lily walked in her confident strut—like she was on the runway herself—past a group of fifth year boys who were doing all they could to not leer. They knew they’d get a smack-down if Lily saw them staring at her hemline again. Lily was a force to be reckoned with when she caught the unworthy trying to undress her with their eyes.

   After them came a group of Gryffindor girls in the year before her to whom she politely waved even though she found them wildly annoying. They were the sort who clung around to the highest branch on the social ladder at school until they eventually wore them down and became a part of the in-crowd themselves.

   They clearly underestimated Lily’s tolerance for annoyance. As the only woman in the Malfoy-Potter house, she had to deal with quite a bit of annoyance in her lifetime.

   The next person she passed was much more tentative in approaching her.

   In the spirit of a warm Hogwarts welcome, she gave the new professor who was hanging around outside of the main entrance a smile. “Hullo.”

   “Hullo,” she replied, a little surprised Lily had spoken to her. “Seventh year, right?”

   Lily lingered there for a moment. “Yup. You only get me for a year, and once you see my test scores you will regret that fact immediately. The secret to my passing has been my Uncle Remus giving me some much-needed tutoring.

   Grace smiled. “He tutored me when I was back in school. I’ll try and channel his patience, hm?”

   “I don’t know,” Lily grinned. She liked it when teachers had a sense of humor. “I think I’m going to fail any Defense class taught by someone I’m not related to.”

   “You’ll pass,” Professor Burbage said with an enigmatic smile. “You’ll definitely pass.”

   “Erm. Alright, good luck, then. See you around?”

   “See you.”

   Lily rejoined Angela in the hall for their last first night together at Hogwarts, leaving Grace in the dust of her wave of general fabulosity. There was never a question in Grace’s mind about telling Lily who her mother was—Lily just didn’t need to know that.

   Though Grace had to say, she really was looking forward to parent-teacher night. She’d have to tell Draco and Harry about how she was the one who whipped the Malfoy-Potter girl into shape in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

   When Grace was done with her, Lily would be the next in the Potter line to slay a Dark Lord before her nineteenth birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto the high school AU!


End file.
